



























Copyright N 0 . 


A A 




— 


U 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 











































. 


















* 









































































■ 








' ' 
























N. 

















I 




Ned Brewster 1 s Tear 
in the Big TVoods 







Innocence Abroad. Frontispiece. See page 178 



Ned Brewster's Near 
in the 

Big fNoods 


BY 

CHAUNCEY J. HAWKINS 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR 


BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
1912 



Copyright , 1912 y 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 
All rights reserved. 
Published, September, 1912. 


printer* 

S. J. Tabkhill A Co., Boston, U. S. A. 


£ CI.A327 131 

It- e y 



W--W?3 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Moose Hunt .... 1 

II The Way it Happened ... 15 

III Over the Trail .... 27 

IV Mose tells of the Panther . . 42 

V The Storm 57 

VI Lost in the Woods ... 78 

VII The Caribou Hunt ... 99 

VIII Dad’s Surprise . . . .112 

IX Following the Deer Paths in 

Winter 123 

X The Wolf Hunt .... 139 
XI Little Single Hoof . . . 155 

XII Under the Jack Light . . .169 

XIII The Cow Moose and her Calves 194 

XIV The Beaver 209 

XV Mose tries to ride a Moose . 226 

XVI How we tamed a Calf Moose . 240 
XVII Lonely Heart, the Partridge . 256 

XVIII How I LEARNED TO CALL MOOSE . 274 

[V] 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Innocence Abroad .... Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

The horns of this fellow were so large that he 

had to go out of his way .... 6 

The trout were jumping for my flies as fast as 

I could cast them on the water > . .44 

Cow moose and calf 128 

Nothing gives so fine a touch to nature as a 

deer at the edge of a lake . . . 172 

She converted her long body into a ferryboat . 196 

They climbed on the shore and scampered 

away into the woods .... 200 

They were so frightened they really trembled 206 

Finally a deer crept cautiously out of the brush 226 

A bull swam toward the middle of the lake . 226 

Two calves got into a fight over something . 238 

“ Well, old boy, it’s all off ! Let’s go and play 

again” 238 

“ There’s the fellow we want ” . . . 244 

Dad had taken him about the neck to relieve 

the pressure of the rope .... 248 

[vii] 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING PAGE 

Our pet 248 - 

The old bull had heard us coming . . . 252 u 

Lonely Heart 256 w 

They both circled around me .... 280 ' 

He trotted away as though chased by all the 

moose devils of the forest . . . 280 

My guide made me a birch horn . . . 284 


t viii ] 


Ned Brewster's TTear 
in the Big IVoods 


CHAPTER ONE 

THE MOOSE HUNT 

HE morning after we reached camp. 



while dad thought I was still asleep. 


* I heard him say in a low voice: 
“Fine morning for tracking moose, Mose.” 

“Can’t beat it,” Mose replied. “Had 
about two inches of fresh snow during the 
night. It’s soft as cotton. Moose couldn’t 
hear you ten feet away.” 

“Think I’ll take my gun and go on the 
ridge,” whispered dad. 

“Guess I’ll go, too, dad,” I shouted. 
They both looked astonished enough. 
They thought I would not awaken before 


m 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


seven o’clock, about the time the city 
boys get up. But there is something in 
the air of the woods of New Brunswick 
which makes a fellow turn out early, es- 
pecially when there is a moose hunt on. 

I was up and dressing before dad had a 
chance to answer, and kept firing ques- 
tions at him, taking it for granted that I 
was going. 

Then, I didn’t intend that dad should get 
very far away from me. The doctor said 
just before we left home that I must keep 
dad braced up. So I came with the notion 
that it was my business to keep him happy 
all the time. 

Dad looked at Mose as much as to say: 
“Do you think the kid can stand the 
tramp ? ” 

Mose knew I could endure it much 
better than dad, and I guess he felt also 
that it was not best for dad to go alone. 
So he said: “Maybe he could carry home 
the antlers if you got a big head.” 

[ 2 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


They both laughed as though that was a 
great joke, but I did not care. It was a 
joke that decided I could go, so I felt it 
was on them, after all. 

We put on our soft moccasins and started 
for the ridge behind the camp. It was a 
fine, old, hardwood ridge. The leaves 
were all off the trees, and we could see a 
long distance. The sun was not up, and 
the air was full of frost. The big trees 
cracked from the cold. That was the only 
noise in those great woods ; everything 
else was still as death. The snow was so 
light that we could not even hear our own 
steps. Now and then a woodpecker would 
fly out of some decaying stump, where it 
had been gathering insects for its meal, 
and the active little chickadees hopped 
about as though they enjoyed the cold. 
But these were the only signs of life we saw 
except tracks made in the new snow. It 
was hard to believe so many animals had 
passed in the last few hours so near our 

[ 3 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


cabin. We saw the track of a mink within 
five minutes’ walk of camp. Several deer 
had passed along ahead of us, and a cow 
moose and her calf. I don’t believe I 
would have slept any all night if I had 
known there were so many wild beasts 
around us. 

Dad suddenly stopped and I bumped 
right into him. My mind was so taken up 
with these things that I had forgotten all 
about everything else and did not notice 
him when he halted. 

“ Suppose there had been a moose fifty 
yards ahead of us,” whispered dad; “you 
would have spoiled the hunt.” 

I felt mean. I could see what dad 
said was all right, so I did not make any 
excuse. 

“You must never lose sight of what I 
do,” he continued. “If I stop, you stop; 
if I crouch down, you get on your knees. 
You watch me, and whatever I do you do 
also.” 


[ 4 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


That was my first lecture on hunting. 
I supposed it was all over and I was ready 
to go along. 

“See that?” 

Dad pointed to a track in front of us. 

“A big moose has just passed along.” 

Dad got down and examined the track 
carefully. I wondered what he was doing. 

“He is not more than half an hour 
ahead of us. Not a particle of snow has 
drifted in the track.” 

That seemed to me very wonderful. 
Who would ever have thought of such a 
sign to tell how long since a moose had 
passed ? 

“Now, my boy, you don’t want to make a 
misstep ; not a particle of noise and keep 
close to me.” 

I began to feel my heart beat fast, and 
wondered if I was going to have buck 
fever. I had heard dad speak of it and tell 
how he had seen men shake so they could 
not even hold their guns. I began to feel 
[ 5 ] 


N ED B R E WS T E R’ S YEAR 


the symptoms coming on and was glad I 
did not have any gun to hold. My teeth 
chattered and I began to feel shaky all 
over. Dad looked round somewhat dis- 
gusted, as much as to say he was ashamed 
of any son of his who was affected that way. 
It was almost like a bucket of cold water 
thrown all over a fellow when he is mad. 
It braced me right up, and I never had any 
fever after that. 

“He is a big fellow,’’ dad whispered. 

I wondere d how he could tell. The tracks 
did not look any larger than those of the 
cow we had just passed. 

“See, he had to go round this clump of 
small trees.” 

“What’s that to do with a big moose?” 
I asked. “Wouldn’t any moose have to 
go round ?” 

“A cow would have gone straight through. 
A bull with a small head of horns would 
also have gone through. But a bull with big 
antlers would have had a hard time. The 
[ 6 ] 



The Horns of this Fellow were so Large that he had 
to go out of his Way. Page 7 




































































































. 










IN THE BIG WOODS 


horns of this fellow were so large that he 
had to go out of his way.” 

I could begin to see how some men called 
dad quite a sportsman. He knew more 
about the woods than any man I had ever 
seen. 

“ We’ll go straight through here and take 
up his tracks on the other side.” 

I didn’t ask any more questions, but I 
wondered how dad knew the moose would 
come back on the other side of the thicket. 

“ Don’t touch a twig now while you are 
going through here.” 

Of course, it was just my luck, when I 
wanted everything to go well on my first 
hunt, to snap a twig the first thing. My 
shoulder happened to hit a dead limb and 
it snapped like a pistol. Dad looked dis- 
gusted, but did not say a word. He just 
stopped a minute, listened to catch any 
noise, and then went along. 

Sure enough, we had not gone very far 
when we came on the track again. Dad 
[ 7 ] 


NED BREWST E R’ S YEAR 


seemed more cautious than ever. He would 
take a few steps and then stop and listen. 
He would take his big field glasses and look 
everywhere ; then he would move on again. 

The tracks led up a little knoll, on the 
other side of which was a small swale. 
Dad motioned me to stop. He crept along 
almost on his knees, his head pulled way 
down between his shoulders. He held his 
gun ready to fire. 

Just before he reached the top he stood 
up and looked over the ridge. Sure enough, 
his gun went to his shoulder, and before I 
had time to think what was being done, 
the woods rang with the report of the 
rifle. 

I forgot all about my lecture and ran to 
where dad stood. He held his gun ready 
for another shot. Not a hundred feet 
away was a huge moose floundering in the 
snow. I don’t remember much besides his 
antlers. He seemed to me to be all horns. 
His great head swung back and forth, 
[ 8 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


dug into the snow and then flew into the 
air. I had seen moose heads at the Natural 
History Society, but I never imagined that 
any beast could carry such a head of horns 
as this one had. They seemed like trees 
lashing the air. 

Dad waited to see if he could rise. 

Little by little the great animal gave up 
the struggle and sank into the snow. 

We went down where he was. He made 
two or three desperate efforts to get up and 
then fell back. 

“He’s all in,” said dad. “No use to 
shoot him again.” 

It touched me to see such a noble animal 
lying there. His eyes pleaded for help. 
I almost wished dad had not shot him. 

I think dad felt something like that, also. 
He walked away as though he did not want 
to look at him. I turned around, too; I 
could not look into his eyes. 

Then I saw dad acting queer. He fell 
right down in the snow and rolled over 

[ 9 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


and over until he was well down in the 
swale. I thought he must have an attack 
of some kind. I never saw him so excited 
before. 

“Two big bears about half a mile down 
the ridge. You stay here. It will take me 
a long time to stalk them. But you stay 
right here, ” he said. 

I never felt more disappointed in my 
life than when I saw dad disappear over 
the knoll. But, then, I knew there was no 
use for me to go, and I made the best of 
it. 

After dad was gone I fell down on my 
knees and started to creep to the top of 
the ridge, thinking I might peep over and 
get a glimpse of the bear. 

Then that old moose began to struggle. 
I looked back, and if he hadn’t risen on his 
front feet and was sitting on his haunches! 

I knew he would get away if some- 
thing was not done, so I dug down under the 
snow and found a club. Then I went for 
[ 10 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


that moose in good shape. I batted him 
behind the horns, for I had read there was 
a soft spot there on the heads of cattle, and 
I thought there must also be one on moose. 
My first blow only seemed to give him more 
life. He gave one mighty effort and landed 
on all four feet. Then he fell over flat on 
his side. I hit him between the eyes and 
then three or four times behind the ears. 
His eyes fairly flamed, he was so mad. 
It seemed to me that he breathed fire out of 
his nostrils. I kept laying the club to him 
as fast as I could, but the more I punished 
him, the more life he seemed to get. He 
turned on his belly, with all four feet under 
him; then he rose as though nothing was 
the matter with him and ran round and 
round in a circle. He acted as though he 
was blind. Then he got his eye on me. 
I would have been down when dad returned 
if it had not been for a tree. Just as he 
plunged for me, I jumped behind it. He 
was not able to turn quickly, so before he 
[ 11 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


could come at me again I had climbed 
beyond his reach. 

I did not dare to yell for fear I would 
frighten the bear, but I shook the limbs, 
made all sorts of wild motions, and tried to 
scare the moose away. 

He showed no inclination to go, however. 
He stayed right under that tree, shaking his 
horns, pawing the snow, and offering every 
challenge he could for me to come down and 
fight. 

I had often heard dad tell of bull moose 
attacking men, but I always thought he 
was just telling stories to pass the time away. 
I had no doubt about it now. The way 
this bull dug into the snow and shook his 
great head of horns made me tremble, 
though I knew I was out of his reach. Could 
he have gotten at me, I would have been 
beaten to jelly. 

Just as I was thinking over these things, 
I heard a noise behind me, and there stood 
dad. He was white as a sheet. 

[ 1 *] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


“Don’t come down,” he shouted — as 
though I had any notion of doing so. 

“Hold on tight,” he shouted again. 

I saw that dad was terribly nervous; 
he shook like a leaf. The bull started for 
him. He fired, but the bullet went right 
under the moose and threw the snow into 
the air. I saw dad had the fever and I 
was sure the moose would get him. 

“Brace up, dad,” I yelled at the top of 
my voice. That seemed to bring him to 
his senses, and the next shot brought the 
old moose down. 

I slid down that tree limp as a rag. 

“I thought your end had come this time,” 
I said, at the same time leaning up against 
the tree. 

“ How in time did you get up there ? ” dad 
asked. 

Then I told him the story of how I tried 
to kill the moose that he went away and 
left with all the fight in him. 

Dad said he had never seen a moose do 
[ 13 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


that before, but really I could see he felt 
mean to think he had left me in such a 
place, and we walked back to camp without 
talking much. We were both thinking of 
what might have happened. 


[ 14 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


CHAPTER TWO 

THE W AY IT HAPPENED 

T HE way we happened to go into the 
region of big game and wild forests 
in New Brunswick was very pecul- 
iar. Dad and I lived alone in a nice little 
steam-heated apartment in a big brick block 
in the heart of Boston. We had a good 
housekeeper, but it was not quite a home, 
after all. Mother had died and left dad 
with me on his hands. He did the best he 
could, but he knew he could not take 
mother’s place, and it worried him. He 
tried to be father and mother in one, and 
he hired a woman to help him mother his 
poor son, who came home from school every 
day and missed some one to give him a 
piece of pie and make him feel good after 
things had not gone right. 

[ 15 ] 


NED BREWST E R’ S YEAR 


I went to school every day, plowed along 
as best I could, but I missed mother’s help 
on my problems; and grammar — well, I 
couldn’t do anything with it. The teacher 
did the best she could, but some way we 
could not make things go. I tried to look 
happy for dad’s sake, but he could see I 
was not quite as I used to be. It took hold 
of him ; I could see he was losing his appe- 
tite. It was hard for him to take much 
interest in things. He didn’t joke as he 
did before mother died, and I noticed he 
was becoming rather pale. 

One night when I came home from school 
he met me at the door. There was a look 
in his eye that frightened me. He was 
unusually sober. He took me into the 
living room and said he had something to 
tell me. I feared bad news, and my heart 
beat fast. 

“ Father isn’t very well,” he began. 

I felt something run clear through me. I 
had lost mother, and now I thought I was 
[ 16 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


going to lose dad. There was such a lump 
in my throat that I could not say a word. 

4 4 The doctor has told me I must give up 
business and rest for a year. He says I 
must have a change. I am going into the 
woods.” 

I looked right into his eyes and said : 
“Take me with you, dad. You know there 
are only two of us left, and it don’t seem 
quite right to separate us.” 

I think dad felt just as I did, but he drew 
himself together and said : 

44 You will have to remain in school, my 
boy. You are only fifteen, and your mother 
would not want you to be out of school.” 

The tone of his voice was not quite natural, 
and I knew he wanted me to go with him. 
He had been so lonely since mother went 
away that I could not bear to think of him 
going in the woods alone. So I said : 

44 You know I haven’t been doing very 
well in school this year. Maybe it would 
do me good to rough it awhile. Anyway, 
[ 17 ] 


NED B R EW S T E FT S YEAR 


I’d learn something out there. And I 
could take some of my books.” 

Dad said nothing more, but I could see 
he was thinking. I had learned that when 
dad was making big decisions he did not 
say much. So I just kept still and waited 
to see what would happen. 

Two or three days later I heard him 
talking with his housekeeper. He was tell- 
ing her he was going to break up his home 
and go away. 

‘‘What are you going to do with Ned?” 
she asked. 

I listened hard, but he did not say a word. 
He may have known I was listening. 

The next night a brand new fishing rod 
was left at the door. I knew then that 
dad was getting his kit together. He put 
it away without saying a word and then 
sat down in his big chair to read. 

It was more than I could stand. Though 
I was a big boy I just climbed up in his 
lap and buried my head down in his coat 
[ 18 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


and cried. Neither of us said anything, 
but I heard dad blow his nose and I knew he 
felt bad, too. When I got down I hastened 
off to bed. 

The next morning dad went to school 
with me. He did not say why he was 
going, but proceeded right up to the master’s 
room. 

When I came home at noon an awful 
load seemed to be lifted off of dad’s 
shoulders. He looked happier than I had 
seen him for a month. Before I had a 
chance to say a word he stunned me with 
the question: “ So you’d really like to go 
with me, would you?” i 

I knew by the tone of his voice he had 
decided I could go, and without giving an 
answer I threw my hat to the ceiling and 
danced the first real fling that had been 
seen in our home for many a day. 

In just one week we were on our way to 
New Brunswick. It was already cold in 
Boston, and when we reached Bangor the 
[ 19 ] 


NED BREWS T E R* S YEAR 


snow was falling. That night, when we left 
the warm car at Frederickton, the mountains 
were all white. 

It seemed pretty cold weather to go into 
the wilds to begin camping. I had been 
in the woods for three summers with dad in 
a tent, but it was warm then and we did 
our cooking over an open fire. I could not 
see just how we were going to manage it in 
the winter, where everything was covered 
with snow and the thermometer was way 
down below zero. 

But I did not say anything. I knew dad 
would manage it some way, as he was used 
to the woods, and some thought he was 
quite a sportsman. 

We stayed in Frederickton overnight, 
and the next morning at four-thirty we 
took the train for the Miramichi country. 
Talk about being cold ! Well, I thought 
I knew what cold weather was, but when 
we went from the hotel that morning, it 
was as dark as pitch everywhere and the air 
[ 20 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


as full of frost as of oxygen. I thought I 
would never reach the station with any 
nose or ears left on my face. 

We arrived at the station about two 
minutes before the train was to start. I 
looked for the passenger cars, but as there 
were none about, I supposed the train must 
be late. 

“How much is she behind ?” I asked a 
policeman, the only sign of life about the 
whole place. 

“None at all,’ 5 he replied. “She’s just 
backing down now.” 

I looked and saw a freight train with a 
caboose on the end. 

“Is that the thing we go on, dad?” I 
asked, not having any idea we would be 
obliged to ride as freight. 

“Don’t worry, my boy, just so it gets 
you there,” was the kind of a reply you would 
expect dad to make. 

But I was not quite so sure of this as dad 
was. We had only fifty miles to go and 
[ 21 ] 


NED BREWST ER’ S YEAR 


the time-table said it took four hours to 
make it. When I asked the conductor what 
time we were due, he said: 44 Eight-thirty, 
if we are on time.” 

Then I began to think that a train that 
was not certain of making twelve and a 
half miles an hour was not sure of getting 
there at all. 

Well, no fellow who had once taken it 
would ever forget that ride. About every 
two miles they stopped and took off some- 
thing; dad said it was barrels of molasses, 
but I had suspicions. At any rate, they 
unloaded a lot of stuff. It seemed to me 
more like a grocery delivery wagon than a 
railroad train. They stopped at nearly 
every farmer’s house, left something, chatted 
awhile with the farmer, and then went on. 

I became so much interested in the 
way they did things that I almost forgot 
about time, too, and began to wish they 
would not get into our station quite so 


soon. 


[ 22 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


“Hope Mose will be there to meet us,” 
dad said, with the only sign of anxiety he 
had shown since we had left. 

It set me thinking. As far as we could 
see, on either side of the railroad, there was 
nothing but forest and snow. We had to 
scrape the frost off the windows before we 
could even see out. We had not passed a 
station where there was anything more than 
a shed, and the prospect of being set down 
in this country without any one to care for 
us did not seem very attractive. 

“Next station Doaktown,” sang out the 
brakeman, the first time he had said any- 
thing. 

“Guess there must be quite a station 
here, dad, or he wouldn’t have mentioned 
it.” 

Sure enough, as the train pulled in, there 
was a line of houses down the main street, 
a dozen houses on side streets, one or two 
churches, and a cemetery. 

The train had hardly stopped when dad 
[ 23 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


rushed down the steps, grabbed the hand 
of some fellow, and began to ask all sorts 
of questions. 

I knew it must be Mose. Somehow, 
right away, I felt I would have a mighty 
good time with him. He seemed to be 
genuine. When he shook my hand, I just 
began to see all sorts of deer, moose, bear, 
and lots of other things. 

When we jumped into his sleigh and 
started off, — there’s no use for me to try to 
tell you how I felt. We had not driven more 
than twenty minutes when every sign of 
civilization was gone, and we were in the 
big woods. I expected to see a bull moose 
cross the road any minute, and I kept my eye 
out for anything that might be running 
through the woods. 

Dad looked different, too; I had not 
heard him say so much for six months. He 
and Mose lighted their pipes and talked of 
old times and a lot of other things. You 
would never have thought dad had had a 
[ 24 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


knockout by the way he looked as we went 
up that road. > 

We jogged along for about two hours and 
then the road just stopped. 

“Is this where we’re going to put up?” 
I asked Mose. 

“No, boy,” he said, “this is only wnere 
we start into the woods.” 

This seemed strange to me. We had 
been riding for twelve miles through nothing 
but forests. Now to have our guide say we 
were just starting set me to thinking. 
I looked ahead, and as far as the eye could 
see there was only a wilderness. 

I had not pictured anything like this. 
We had been in the woods before, but there 
was always a doctor or a telephone within a 
few miles. Now to plunge out fifty miles 
from a house and seventy-five miles from 
a doctor, — well, it just made me feel a 
little lonely. Then I looked at dad and 
wondered what might happen to him. 

Mose turned down through the woods 
[ 25 ] 


NED B R EW S T E R } S YEAR 


and wound round through the trees until 
he came to his shack and barn. We put 
up the horse, then Mose said we would go 
in and get some hot tea to warm us before 
we started on the remainder of the trip. 


[ 26 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


CHAPTER THREE 

OVER THE TRAIL 

AD was anxious to get away, and so 



was I. Mose thought it might be 


better to wait until the next day and 


make an early start, but we had been in a 
hot stuffy car for twenty-four hours and 
we wanted the good air. Then we were 
anxious to reach camp and settle down. 

“ We’ll have to sleep out to-night if we 
start now,” said Mose. “ There is no cabin 
we can reach short of a whole day’s tramp.” 

That did sound chilly to me. There were 
four inches of snow on the ground and the 
air was full of frost. My ears were most 
frozen driving up from the station. I 
wondered how we could keep warm sleeping 
out in the snow. 


[ 87 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


“We’ve slept out more than once, Mose,” 
said dad. “I guess it will not hurt us now.” 

I could not believe dad was the sick man 
our doctor had sent into the woods to get 
back his health, or his equilibrium, as “doc” 
expressed it. He was ready for anything, 
and looked as though he did not have a care 
in the world. It did me so much good to 
see him thus that I decided to stick by, if I 
did freeze to death. 

“I can stand it, if you fellows can,” I 
said, thinking Mose might be holding back 
on my account. I did not want to be 
counted a tender skin. 

Dad looked pleased to think I had spunk 
enough to speak up. Mose seemed to 
catch dad’s feeling and went away smiling 
to hitch the two fresh horses into the sled 
which was to carry our supplies into the 
woods. 

About one o’clock we started. Dad, 
Mose, and I went ahead, leaving the driver 
with the team to come along behind. We 
[ 28 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


plunged immediately into the heavy spruce 
forest. 

“ Better take a look back, as this is your 
last sign of civilization for a year, my boy,” 
said dad. 

I did not see much sign of civilization 
where we were, and I did not care anything 
about looking back. There was enough 
ahead to keep me busy. 

Dad and I walked side by side in the road 
while Mose came behind. Dad set the 
pace we were to walk. 

“ We’ll take it easy to-day,” he said. 
“It is hard walking in this fresh snow. 
Then we are not in the habit of this kind of 
tramping, and we don’t want to be lame 
to-morrow.” 

Of course I was more used to it than dad, 
as I did a lot of running around the hills 
about Boston, while dad just rode back and 
forth to business on the car. Yet this was 
all new to me, and I was glad to take their 
advice. Then, I wanted to see things as 
[ 29 ] 


NED BREIVSTER’S YEAR 


I went along. Everything was new, and I 
could not see half as much as I desired. 

The woods looked clean and white. The 
snow was not broken anywhere, and it 
took queer shapes as it fell on logs and trees. 
The top of every stump looked like a beehive 
just covered with a coating of snow, and 
the drifts about rocks and bushes left 
openings leading down into caves which 
I imagined might be the sleeping places 
of all sorts of animals. 

We had only gone a short distance when 
dad suddenly stopped and pointed to a 
partridge on a log by the side of the road. 
He was not more than ten feet from us, and 
it seemed strange to me that he did not 
fly. The old birch partridges about Boston 
were so wild that you could hardly find them 
without a dog. 

“He must be wounded,” I said to dad, 
“or he would fly.” 

“He is a spruce partridge,” dad replied. 
“They are not wild like the birch.” 

[ 30 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 

The bird strutted up and down that log 
as though he did not mind us in the least. 
He spread his tail and made his whole body 
tremble. It was the first time I had ever 
seen a partridge in the wild state spread its 
tail and strut. I could have stayed there for 
a long time and looked at it, but dad and 
Mose were already quite a way ahead of me 
and I rushed along to overtake them. 

We traveled until about four o’clock, when 
Mose said he thought we had better stop 
and make camp. 

“There is a good spring of water right 
down here,” he said. “Then we will be 
well protected from wind under this hill.” 

“It will take some time to make a camp, 
too,” added dad, “ and we will only have 
about an hour of good light in which to 
work.” 

Mose found two small fir trees and 
scraped all the snow off the ground between 
them. He made a place just wide enough 
for four men to lie down. 

[ 31 ] 


NED BREIVSTER’S YEAR 


“ Your part of the job will be to gather the 
fir boughs,” he said, turning to me. “Get 
enough to make a place as easy as a feather 
bed.” 

I thought that would be easy, but I 
guess dad knew better. He said he would 
help. 

Mose chopped down two or three large 
firs, and we cut about two or three feet off 
the ends of the branches and carried them 
where we were to sleep. Dad spread them 
out so they made a fine, springy bed, and 
in a little while we had a place as soft and 
easy as any couch at home. j 

Over the bough bed Mose built a lean-to. 
He used the two small firs for uprights and 
cut four long poles. One he used as a 
crosspiece from tree to tree, and the other 
three ran from the crosspiece to the ground. 
Over these he piled brush. On the brush 
he put a lot of dead leaves, and over all he 
threw a fly of the tent. 

“It will be so hot in there to-night you 
[ 32 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


can’t sleep,” he said, when the task was 
finished. 

It seemed strange to me that he could get 
a place like that hot, but I was learning so 
many queer things about the woods that 
I just waited to see. 

“ We’ll have a big fire right here, and keep 
it going all night,” he said. “Now for a 
yellow birch or a balsam.” 

He drove two sticks into the ground, 
making them slant a little backwards. 
Then he cut the balsams from which we had 
gotten the boughs into five or six large 
pieces and piled them one on top of the other 
against the sticks. 

“These will do for the back-log. They 
will save us from cutting a big tree,” he 
said. “Now we must get some dry spruce 
to give a snappy fire until we go to sleep 
and some birch logs to keep a fire all 
night.” 

He knew just what kind of wood was 
wanted for every kind of fire, and in a few 
[ 33 ] 


NED B REWS T E R f S YEAR 


minutes he had more wood in front of our 
lean-to than we would have in our cellar 
at home to burn for a whole winter. And, 
sure enough, Mose had told the truth. 
When he lighted that fire the lean-to was 
like a bake-oven. It caught all the heat 
of the big fire and held it. 

I wish you could have seen dad when he 
started to cook supper. He pranced round 
like a high-bred horse that was feeling at his 
best. 

‘Til get the potatoes ready and fry them, 
Mose,” dad said. “You cut the venison 
and cook it so juicy it will melt in our 
mouths.” 

My, but I began to feel hungry ! 

Dad pared the potatoes, cut them in thin 
slices, and filled the bottom of the frying 
pan with them. 

I had the biggest scare over those potatoes 
I had received for a long time. Dad 
suddenly stood up before the fire, gave that 
frying-pan a shake and then threw every 
[ 34 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


piece of potato into the air. I thought that 
part of supper was all gone. But, do you 
know, those potatoes just turned over and 
came down in perfect order in the pan. 

“ Saves turning them over with a knife,” 
said dad, laughing, as he saw my eyes fairly 
sticking out of my head. 

“ If this meat doesn’t melt in your mouths, 
it won’t be the fault of the meat,” added 
Mose, shaking the pan to keep the venison 
from burning over the hot fire. 

I just felt like standing on my head 
and kicking my heels together. That big, 
crackling fire, the sputter of the frying 
potatoes, the smell of the meat, — well, 
the whole thing just made a fellow tingle. 

I really became frightened when dad 
started to eat. He had not eaten anything 
but toast and other invalid food for several 
days. Now to see him storing away that 
venison, — well, I said to myself, if he did 
not have cramps and all the rest before 
morning, I’d miss my guess. But he enjoyed 
[ 35 ] 


NED B REITS TER’S YEAR 


it so much I kept quiet and busy, too. My 
appetite was good at home, but the way I 
made the meat disappear, and the bread 
coated over with raspberry jam, was a 
surprise even to myself. 

While Mose and dad were washing the 
dishes, I laid down on the blankets on my 
back and looked into the sky. Everything 
seemed so queer before the light of the fire. 
All sorts of strange figures and ghosts 
danced around the tops of the trees. The 
heat from the fire melted snow in the trees 
and big pieces fell to the ground, looking 
like fairies flitting through the air. The 
flames jumped up from the burning logs and 
were lost in the dark night. 

I was just thinking how lonely it was, 
when something brought me to my feet 
with a jump. It sounded like a woman 
being strangled to death, — the most blood- 
curdling noise I had ever heard. 

“Consarnded thing!” shouted dad, jump- 
ing straight into the air. 

[ 36 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


I began to think of panthers, bears, and all 
the other wild beasts. 

“Just one of those big horned owls,” 
said Mose, calmly, as though nothing had 
happened. “There he sits right on that 
limb,” at the same time reaching for the 
rifle. 

The owl seemed to know what Mose was 
doing and flew through the light from our 
fire out into the dark woods, 
f In a few minutes we were all in bed. 
They put me in the middle, and by seven 
o’clock I was lost to the world. 

It was not until five-thirty the next morn- 
ing that I knew I was on the earth. Then 
the cold began to get under the covers, 
and I looked out to see about the fire. I 
guess the frost found the toes of my bed- 
fellows about the same time, for they both 
woke. 

Talk about your cold water baths in the 
morning ! Well, to jump out of a warm 
bed into the snow and the frosty air was 
[ 37 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


the worst form of cold bath I had ever 
experienced. 

Mose sprang out of bed, threw off his 
clothes, and plunged stark-naked into the 
snow, rolling over and over in it. 

“That puts the snap in you,” he shouted. 
“Do that a few times, and you will never 
know what it is to be sick.” 

“Think I’ll run the risk, Mose, and not 
take the snow bath,” said dad. 

It seemed to me like suicide. But Mose 
was so strong and well, one could not doubt 
it was good for him. 

In less than an hour we were on the trail. 

“You may expect to see moose or any 
other wild beast to-day,” said Mose, as we 
started. “We are getting into the woods 
now.” 

Sure enough, we had not gone very far 
before a large Canadian lynx ran across the 
road and up the hillside through an open 
growth. 

The tracks of animals were increasing in 
[ 38 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


numbers. The deer trails could be seen 
everywhere. Big moose tracks became 
more common. Mink, fox, fisher, and lucifee 
were in abundance. Before we reached the 
cabin that night I was able to tell the foot- 
prints of almost every kind of animal in the 
woods. 

The end of the day, however, brought 
us in contact with one animal that none of 
us were glad to see. Weary from our long 
tramp, we all gave one vigorous shout as the 
cabin came into view down the trail. It 
was an old deserted lumber camp. All of 
the buildings had tumbled into decay ex- 
cept one, which Mose had kept in repair 
for his hunting parties. 

“Don’t know how we will find it,” 
said Mose. “No one has been in it for a 
year.” 

It was occupied by tenants on which Mose 
had not counted. As we opened the 
door two skunks stood in the middle of the 
floor. They were not half as much dis- 
[ 39 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


turbed by our presence as we were by theirs. 
They stood with their tails lifted, defying our 
approach. 

“ Guess it is a case of sleeping in the snow 
another night,” exclaimed dad. 

“They have a hole in one corner of the 
cabin,” said Mose. “Don’t scare them, 
and they will go in their den in a few 
minutes.” 

“Don’t expect to sleep in that cabin with 
skunks ?” demanded dad. 

“Sure! They will not do any harm,” 
replied Mose. 

“You may let bear sleep there,” said dad, 
“but no skunks can sleep where I do. 
Shoot them.” 

“If you shot them, you would not sleep 
in there all winter,” said Mose. “Just let 
them go in their holes. They’ll probably 
stay here all winter. I’ve slept with skunks 
before. They’re all right if you let them 
alone.” 

Sure enough, in a few minutes they trotted 
[ 40 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


into their hiding place. We were tired and 
weary. After making some tea and cooking 
a bit of venison, we lay down on our bunks 
to sleep in happy companionship with 
skunks. 


[ 41 ] 


N ED B R EW S T E R 9 S YEAR 


CHAPTER FOUR 

MOSE TELLS OF THE PANTHER 

W E spent all day skinning the 
moose which dad had killed 
the first morning after reach- 
ing camp, preparing the meat and getting 
the big head down to the cabin. After 
supper we gathered round the large stove 
and talked over my narrow escape. Dad 
and Mose began to argue on the fighting 
instincts of bull moose. 

“ They’ll fight you any place,” said Mose, 
4 4 even when they are not wounded.” 

“You never saw one fight that could get 
away,” replied dad. 

“I’ve had to fight them on the tote 
road,” Mose declared, with a good deal of 
feeling. 

“Bosh !” dad exclaimed, laughing. 

[ 42 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


“Now see here,” added Mose, determined 
to prove his point; “I was driving a tote 
team years ago for old Bill Sunday. He 
had a camp way up the Nepisiguit River. 
He took people up there every fall. I 
toted duffle in and took the moose out. One 
day I was coming down with an empty sled. 
The road ran beside a brook, and there were 
thick alders on each side of the road. At 
a place where neither of us could turn out I 
met an old bull moose coming toward me. 
One or the other had to turn round and go 
back, and I supposed the old critter would 
turn and run like a streak. Instead of that 
he just stood in the road and shook his head. 
I yelled, but he never moved. The horses 
became so nervous I could scarcely keep 
them straight. I got down, walked ahead 
of the team, and threw stones at the bull. 
Then he made for me, and I had to jump 
behind some alders to get out of his way. 
At the same time I was holding the reins 
to keep the team from running away.” 

[ 43 ] 


NED B REWS T E R’ S YEAR 


“ Why didn’t you shoot him? ” asked dad. 

“I had nothing with me except a twenty- 
two rifle with a twelve-inch barrel. I got 
hold of that and shot the old beast through 
his bell, thinking that would scare him and 
he would run away. Instead of that he 
came at me as though he would rip up all 
the alders in that swamp. I saw it was a case 
of killing him or I’d be gone, and my team, 
too.” 

“Didn’t expect to kill him with a twenty- 
two, did you, Mose ? ” asked dad. 

“Well, I’d heard of bulls being killed 
with small rifles, and I took my only chance. 
I let him have it right in the neck, thinking 
I’d get at his jugular vein. Land ! It 
wasn’t as much as a pin-prick to him. 
Then he came a little closer, and I tried for 
his heart. I was never more surprised in 
my life at what happened. He just stiffened 
out all four legs and stuck his nose right out 
straight. I knew he was mortally hit. He 
stood that way as much as ten seconds, then 
[ 44 ] 



The Trout were Jumping for my Flies as fast as I could cast them on the Water. 

Page 45 








IN THE BIG WOODS 


he collapsed and fell in a heap. I couldn’t 
believe my eyes as I looked at the noble 
fellow in front of me.” 

“Did you ever see a panther in these 
woods?” I asked, interrupting Mose, as I 
was becoming excited over his yarns. 

“I saw one back here on Cold Brook. It 
was the only one I ever saw.” 

“Tell us about it,” added dad. “See 
if you can beat that moose story.” 

“This is fact,” said Mose, as he shook 
his head. “The trout were jumping for 
my flies as fast as I could cast them on the 
water. Every bit of the stream that eddied 
behind a rock was sure to hold three or 
four of the hungry creatures who were 
anxious for my Yellow May. They seemed 
to be taking that fly better than any other. 
I was quietly stepping from one rock to 
another, feeling a sense of security, as the 
high walls rose on each side. Ferns hung all 
the way up the sides, while water trickled 
down from the tops of the cliffs. It was a 
[ 45 ] 


NED B REWS T E R’ S YEAR 


paradise for fishermen. It did not seem a 
natural place for another creature. I was 
busy playing my flies, taking only the 
largest trout for my creel, when I saw just 
above me on the cliff a panther. She had 
her kittens with her, but they did not see 
me, and as they moved along under the 
pines they were the most graceful creatures 
I had ever seen. 

4 ‘The kittens were already of considerable 
size. The mother must have been taking 
them on their first hunt. She moved along 
with all the cunning of a cat, surveying 
sharply every foot of ground, looking into 
every tree, and lifting her nose into the air 
to gather any scent which might be brought 
by the wind. 

‘‘The little ones seemed to catch her 
spirit, often stopping with one foot poised 
in the air to scent the presence of any 
animal that might be near. They were born 
hunters and needed only a little coaching to 
make them experts in their art. 

[ 46 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


“ Suddenly they all crouched to the ground 
and seemed to melt out of sight. The old 
mother fell upon the earth, her paws fixed 
for a sudden lunge. Something was in 
sight, and she was preparing to spring. 

“I sank behind a large rock, waiting 
breathlessly to see what innocent creature 
might be walking to its doom. At first I 
felt like hurling a stone or firing a pistol 
to give warning of danger. Then second 
thought told me that her family needed food 
as well as mine. Partly because I felt that 
fair hunting ought not to be discouraged, 
partly because I wanted to see the method 
of hunting practiced by the panther, I 
waited until two large ears appeared over the 
rise of ground. It was a deer feeding along 
the bank of the cool stream. She would 
nibble a few blades of grass, then lift her 
fine head to see if an enemy was near. 
Thinking she had the woods to herself, she 
moved steadily along. 

“Every step brought her nearer to danger, 
[ 47 ] 


NED BREIVST ER } S YEAR 


yet one could not detect a motion of a single 
muscle in the panther. 

“Statue-like she waited until the young 
deer was within a dozen feet of where she 
lay. Then there was a sudden twitch of 
the muscles, followed by a quick lunge 
upon the back of the helpless animal. A 
momentary struggle, a few swift strokes of 
the hoofs of the deer, and all was over. With 
a rapidity almost beyond belief, the panther 
ripped open the throat of the deer and 
sucked the warm blood which rushed in a 
torrent to the ground. The kittens, bris- 
tling and humping their backs with a kind 
of pride which indicated that they had a 
part in the fight, were soon at their meal, 
tearing at the vitals of the dead animal and 
growling as though each was jealous least 
the other should devour more than his 
share. 

“Several days after this experience, I 
found myself fishing on the same brook. 
The pure water came from the heart of the 
[ 48 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


rocky mountain, icy cold on the warmest day 
of August. It leaped over one fall after 
another, tumbling down cascades between 
the granite walls, while on either side were 
groves of pine. 

“I had folded my rod, content with the 
trout which lay buried in the ferns of my 
creel. I was' lost in the charm of the woods, 
being driven away only by the chill air 
which rolled down toward the valley. 
Time had slipped away faster than I had 
thought. I found the sun sinking behind 
the hills, while I had a long journey before 
I could reach the cabin. 

“Just as darkness fell, I came from a 
heavy growth of pines into the thick and 
matted brush. I had not gone a dozen steps 
when there came a cry which made my 
blood tingle. Directly behind me was the 
scream of the panther. She was evidently 
on my trail. Possibly since the day she 
had killed the deer she had not been 
successful in the hunt. Then I thought of 
[ 49 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


myself as being the victim as the deer had 
been on the cliff ! 

“I had only a pistol, and that was of 
little use in the darkness. The beast might 
steal upon me and spring before I could 
even locate her in the brush. There was 
no tree near that I could climb, and to have 
run would only have hurried the steps of 
the hungry creature and hastened my death. 
I determined to stand perfectly still, so 
that even the slight crack of a twig under my 
feet might not help to locate my presence. 
The pistol I held for quick action. I had 
supposed that she was tracking me and 
would approach on the line of my trail. 
Ready to fire on the first indication of a 
moving object in the darkness, I stood 
waiting for the conflict. 

“I had never had the fear of a panther 
that some people have, as it was my theory 
that they would not attack man in the 
open. If they could spring upon him 
from a hiding place or from a tree, they 
[ 50 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


might quickly overcome the best protected 
hunter, but being cowardly brutes, I did 
not believe they would fight a fair battle. 
Now was the time to try my theory. At 
any rate I was determined to die fighting. 
There was nothing else that could be 
done. 

“ There had not been a scream for several 
seconds. The very stillness made me think 
the beast was near, waiting for the right 
minute to leap. The fight could not have 
been worse than the silence. My heart 
seemed to stop beating, though by pure 
will power I kept my nerves quiet and my 
hands steady. 

‘‘When it seemed that even will power 
could not endure much longer, there came 
another scream. It was far away to my 
right. The animal was so far away, it 
was evident that she had been trailing all 
the time I had been waiting. But what did 
this scream mean ? Was she trying to mis- 
lead me, making me think she was going 
[ 51 ] 


NED BREWSTER’ S YEAR 


from me, when in reality she was trying to 
circle me and wait in hiding for my ap- 
proach ? What were her tactics ? While 
I was trying to settle this, and was not de- 
cided whether to turn back on my trail or to 
go to my left, the cry came again, far away, 
a faint voice over the ridge. It was evident 
that she was not on my trail at all. She 
was tracking some beast, or possibly just 
running through the woods, screaming 
occasionally to let her children know where 
she was and keep them quiet. 

“Early the next morning, I returned to 
learn what I could from the signs left in 
the leaves and the dry ground. Only an 
occasional leaf which had been turned over 
and was still moist on one side, told the 
story that some animal had passed that 
way the previous night, but whether there 
was a chase or whether the panther had 
just been running through the forests, I 
could not tell by the signs. It was certain 
no deer had passed, so that the savage 
[ 52 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


murderer was not to satisfy her hunger 
again by the blood of an innocent doe. 

“It was not until there was a slight fall 
of snow on the top of the range that I 
again found a sign of the panther. There 
had been just enough snow to cover the 
ground. Every animal left a clear path 
behind to tell of its passing. There were 
signs that the fox had been busy trotting 
over the hills, hunting for mice or trying 
to pick up a rabbit. We could not believe 
there were so many deer on the ranges as 
were indicated by the hoof marks which 
showed everywhere. It seemed impossible 
that so many of them should have evaded 
our sight when we were hunting for them 
earlier in the season. There was also a 
track of the black bear. It had been made 
that very morning and led down to the 
berry patch. 

“As I strolled along, hoping to find the 
bear by tracking him to his den, or startle 
him as he was feeding somewhere on the 
[ 53 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


hillside, I suddenly came to the track of 
the panther. Bear was uninteresting game 
compared to this queen of the forests, and 
I turned from Bruno to follow the creature 
which had given me such a trying experience 
a few weeks before, determined if possible 
to seek revenge. 

“Her tracks led along the side of the 
mountain to a grove of beech trees. One 
of them had fallen and caught in the forks 
of another, so that it lay at an angle of about 
forty-five degrees from the ground. At the 
base of this fallen tree the tracks of the 
panther stopped. She had climbed the tree 
underneath which the deer came to feed 
upon the nuts. 

“The snow told the story. The cunning 
beast had waited until a small deer had 
come for a meal, then had sprung from her 
hiding place to her victim. It had either 
made some noise in the spring or had not 
calculated well on the position of the 
deer, as there was only a little hair on the 
[ 54 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


snow to indicate that the frightened buck 
had escaped with only a slight scratch, not 
even enough to cause it to bleed. 

“It was only the next day that old man 
Davies, who lives just over the ridge, and 
traps for a living, was passing through this 
very grove. He was under one of the big 
trees when he heard a noise over his head. 
He looked just in time to see the panther 
springing into the air. He threw his gun 
toward her and fired, at the same time jump- 
ing on one side. He as quickly drew his 
knife for a hand-to-hand encounter. But 
it was needless. The bullet had done its 
work. She fell a lifeless mass at his feet. 

“I must say I was sorry when I heard the 
news, and went to see the beautiful skin 
stretched in front of the old man’s cabin. 
She had given me some interesting hours, 
and I wished she might still be free to feed 
her kittens and roam the ranges.” 

Mose looked round to see how we were 
taking his story. 


[55] 


NED BREWST E R’ S YEAR 


“That is all right,” said dad. 

“Great !” I exclaimed. “Do you think 
we will find any panthers this winter ? ” 

“Now you’ll get so excited you will not 
sleep any to-night,” added dad. 

“Don’t you worry about my sleep,” I 
replied. “After all we have done to-day I 
could sleep a week.” 

“Better have some of that cold moose 
steak before we go to bed,” declared Mose. 
“We would all sleep better.” 

We quite agreed to this suggestion. Mose 
had cooked for supper more meat than half 
a dozen men could eat and several nice 
steaks were left. After making a large 
moose-meat sandwich, we sat about the 
big fire and nibbled away until our eyes were 
shut. Then we tumbled into bed. Mose 
took a big drink of black coffee as the last 
aid to sleep. 


[ 56 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


CHAPTER FIVE 

THE STORM 

M OSE had looked with approval 
upon everything we had brought 
into the woods with the exception 
of our snow-shoes. As we took from the 
bags our great heavy underwear, a quarter 
of an inch thick, wool stockings which 
came to our knees and so thick we had to 
increase considerably the size of our mocca- 
sins, the heavy caps and coats, he com- 
mented favorably on each one. 

“ Better not tempt this climate with thin 
clothes,” he said. “ Indians can wear a 
shirt and a pair of trousers and lie out in 
one blanket when it is forty below zero, 
but a white man would freeze stiff as a 
spruce stump.” 


[ 57 ] 


NED BREWST ER’ S YEAR 


When, however, we unpacked our snow- 
shoes, before starting into camp, Mose said 
nothing, but a smile came over his face 
which made us very skeptical about our 
investment. 

Two strands broke in one of dad’s shoes 
before we reached camp. It was clear that 
mine would not last long. The moose 
hunt finished dad’s and called out the first 
aid to the injured for mine. 

As dad came hobbling back to camp with 
one shoe in his hand and the other hanging 
in threads to his feet, Mose stood in front 
of the cabin, laughing. 

“That is just all those city-made snow- 
shoes are worth,” he exclaimed. “They 
are nice to look at, but that is all.” 

“What are we going to do, Mose ?” asked 
dad, with much excitement. “ We are here 
for a whole winter, and we are nothing but 
prisoners without snow-shoes.” 

Mose never had a ready answer for any- 
thing. Yet he felt the seriousness of the 
[ 58 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


situation, and, as in all such moments, he 
scratched a match and touched it to his pipe, 
although it was already burning well. 

“We might tan that moose hide, Mose,” 
continued dad. 

“Just as well make snow-shoes out of 
rope,” replied Mose. 

“Well, better that than nothing,” de- 
clared dad. 

“Might be that old Bill Davies, who has 
a camp over the ridge, has one or two caribou 
hides hung up,” said Mose. 

“Then let’s get them just as quick as we 
can,” added dad, as he caught a ray of 
hope. 

F “I’ll go over and see what can be done. 
Bill’s a queer old chap. If he took a notion, 
he wouldn’t sell a hide if he had a cabin 
full of them.” 

After a night of refreshing sleep, to 
which the moose steaks had done no damage 
except an occasional dream, Mose set out 
for Bill’s cabin. It was about three miles 
[ 59 ] 


NED B REWS T E R’ S YEAR 


through the woods. The snow was falling 
when Mose started. The wind was twist- 
ing gently the tops of the trees. 

“Better wait a day, Mose,” dad had 
suggested before Mose put on his snow- 
shoes, but Mose thought the snow would 
amount to nothing, and declared he would 
be back in three or four hours with a hide. 

He had not been away more than an hour 
when the storm began to increase in fury. 
The wind must have been hitting a clip of 
fifty miles an hour. It was almost im- 
possible to stand on snow-shoes, especially 
if going in the face of the wind. It drove 
the snow and frost into one’s face until travel 
was torture. The snow was falling fast and 
heavy. 

“If Mose ever gets there, he’ll never get 
back to-night,” said dad, as he stood by 
the window, looking out into the storm. 

It was the first time I had felt homesick 
or lonesome. But some way the tone of 
dad’s voice made the thing terribly real. 

[ 60 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


The thought that Mose might perish sent a 
shiver all over me. 

Then I remembered what my job was. 
I was along to keep dad happy. Pulling 
myself together, and kicking my heels with 
all the life I could put into them, I caught 
one of the timbers running across the cabin 
and swung myself upon it. 

“Don’t mind Mose,” I shouted above 
the storm. “He’ll take care of himself, 
and we have wood enough here for a month 
and moose meat enough for two.” 

In a little while there was one straight, 
unbroken line of snow from the top of our 
roof to the ground. It had drifted against 
the cabin, covering the window and the 
door. It was so dark that dad lighted the 
lamp. 

We were certainly prisoners. 

“It’s a good thing this door opens in and 
not out,” I said to dad, wondering how we 
would ever dig through the snow. 

“That’s one thing a woodsman always 

[ 61 ] 


NED BREWSTER’ S YEAR 


does,” added dad. “He would be caught 
many times if his door swung out.” 

“We better dig a tunnel,” I suggested. 
“If Mose should come, he could never get 
in the cabin.” 

We were surprised to see how far the snow 
had drifted. There was a hollow place 
in front of the cabin which had filled in 
during the storm. We had to dig nearly 
forty feet through a solid mass of packed 
snow before we could reach daylight. When 
we came to the end of the tunnel and broke 
into the open, we were amazed to see the 
fury of the storm. How any man could 
live in it was beyond imagination. The 
air seemed to be a solid sheet of snow. It 
was impossible to see more than a dozen feet. 
The wind howled and the trees were lashed 
and broken. 

“No use to expect him back to-night,” 
said dad. 

Darkness gathered early and we prepared 
to cook a steak. All day we had been so 
[ 62 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


concerned with the storm that our appetites 
had forsaken us. We were so anxious 
about Mose that we were really not hungry 
now. But dad said we better eat a bite, 
and we were just sitting down to the table 
when the door swung open and Mose fell 
exhausted on the floor. 

“He’s frozen,” shouted dad, who sprang 
to his assistance. “Give me a cup of 
that hot coffee.” 

Mose had life enough to know what was 
being said and lifted his head to swallow 
the hot drink. 

“His nose is frozen stiff,” continued 
dad. “One ear is white. Get a pan full 
of snow and keep rubbing his ear and 
nose.” 

Mose lifted his eyes to the roof, then sank 
back again. Dad gave him another cup of 
strong coffee. 

Mose raised himself on his arm and 
looked once more at the roof. 

“Why did you try to get back, Mose?” 
[ 63 ] 


N ED B REIVS T ER’ S YEAR 


asked dad. “We did not expect you to- 
night . 55 

“The roof — I was afraid — 55 but he 
was too weak to talk and fell back to rest. 

It all dawned on dad in a minute. He 
looked to the roof and saw that one of the 
old poles had already broken under the 
weight of the snow. They had been eaten 
by millions of beetles, weevils, and borers. 
They could not stand the weight. In our 
anxiety for Mose we had not thought of the 
roof, but Mose knew our danger and had 
struggled back to save us. 

“Cut some poles and prop it up , 55 Mose 
whispered. “I 5 m all right now. Don’t 
lose any time. It may come down any 
minute . 55 

Dad lighted the lantern, went out in the 
darkness and cut several spruce trees, 
trimmed them up and dragged them into 
the cabin. In a short time the roof was sup- 
ported by half a dozen strong logs, and we 
were safe from a danger of which we would 
[ 64 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


never have dreamed had not Mose risked 
his life to save us. 

I realized for the first time what a man 
Mose was. From that hour I never had 
any fear of danger. I knew what kind of 
a guide we had and trusted him in every 
situation. 

We helped him into his bunk, gave him 
a little food, though dad said we better 
not give him much, and he soon fell asleep 
from exhaustion. 

It was nine o’clock the next morning 
before Mose opened his eyes, and nearly 
noon before he dressed. 

“It was the closest call I ever had,” he 
said in response to one of dad’s questions, 
as he stood stretching himself before the 
stove. “I fell three times within half a 
mile of this camp. Each time I thought 
I could never get up. Then the idea of 
the roof falling on you fellows would come 
to me and I’d struggle to my feet again and 
walk till I fell. Then I’d repeat the same 
[ 65 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


process. I tell you, though, I’d never have 
gotten here if it hadn’t been for the roof. 
The saving of my old life was not worth 
all I went through to get here.” 

I felt a lump in my throat big as a bucket. 
I could not have said a word. 

“You’re a brick, Mose! ” was all dad said, 
and his voice had something in it which 
made us all feel he had said enough. 

The storm had raged all night. Our 
tunnel had filled with fresh snow, and we 
had to dig our way out again. 

“It’s the worst storm I’ve ever seen in 
the woods,” said Mose. “We must lose 
no time in making the snow-shoes. We 
can do it in a couple of days of steady work. 
We must get out the line of traps. It will 
be great trapping after this storm. The 
lynx and fisher will be starving and will 
take any bait.” 

All that day the storm continued, but 
the next morning the sun rose over a world 
as white as snow could make it. 

[ 66 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Dad and Mose were working on the snow- 
shoes. I patched up my own and started 
out over the fresh, trackless forest. 

“Come back on your trail or you will 
get lost,” said dad, as I started away. 

“Better take the gun,” said Mose. “You 
can’t tell what you will find after this storm.” 

I tramped for an hour without seeing a 
track. The woods seemed to be deserted. 
The snow had covered the small animals 
and driven the larger ones into their yards. 
A band of chickadees hopping about the 
snowy branches was the only sign of life. 

Finally I came to a large cleared space 
which years before had been used for a 
lumber yard. The deep snow had covered 
all the brush and smaller trees. A tall 
stump of a dead pine stood in the center 
of the clearing. At the foot of that stump 
a large Canadian lynx sat in the snow 
looking into the dead branches. A red 
squirrel was scolding and chattering at 
the big lynx. I could see where they had 
[ 67 ] 


NED BREWS TER’S YEAR 


raced across the snow, and where the little 
squirrel had made one long leap for its life. 

When the lynx saw me he showed no 
signs of fright. Instead of bounding away 
into the woods, he humped up his back 
like a big cat and showed fight. 

They say a cat has seven lives. If that 
is true, I am sure a lynx has fourteen. 
I shot that creature through the neck, and 
the way he kicked and floundered in the 
snow was beyond my belief. I nearly froze 
waiting for him to die. 

“The first fur,” I shouted, as I opened 
the door of the cabin. 

Dad stopped working on the snow-shoes 
and looked surprised enough. 

“Those critters will be fierce this winter,” 
said Mose, “owing to the scarcity of 
rabbits.” 

“He was savage enough,” I exclaimed, 
as I threw the lynx on the floor. “He 
showed fight all right.” 

“We had the rabbit plague here two years 

[ 68 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


ago,” continued Mose, “ and since then the 
lynxes and foxes have had a hard time.” 

“ What is the cause of the plague, Mose ?” 
asked dad. 

I had never heard of it before and was 
eager to hear what Mose had to say. 

“ Nobody seemed to know anything 
about it,” explained Mose. “ There will 
come a time when apparently there will 
not be half a dozen rabbits in the woods. 
Then in a year or two a rabbit seems to 
jump out of every bush you pass. They 
are everywhere. The lynxes and foxes in- 
crease with this great food supply. Then 
because of some disease or scarcity of food 
or for some other reason, nobody is certain, 
the rabbits decrease as rapidly as they 
increased, until there is scarcely one to 
be found in the woods. Then the lynxes 
starve and become fierce. They will attack 
almost anything.” 

“I have heard that they would attack 
moose,” said dad. 


[ 69 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


“I have seen deer killed by them in 
these seasons of famine/’ replied Mose. 
“They attack a young deer and break 
his neck.” 

“We may get one in a trap,” I added. 

“It will be no trick to get a lynx in a 
trap this winter,” replied Mose. “We’ll 
try it to-morrow, anyway.” 

That day the snow-shoes were finished, 
and early the next morning we were ready 
to put out the line of traps. 

“Are you good for twenty miles ?” asked 
Mose, as he brought the traps together. 

“I could walk thirty easily,” I replied, 
feeling as though I could really walk forty. 

“Better make it ten for the first day,” 
said dad. “We can put out part of them 
to-day and the rest another time.” 

Mose had two or three dozen heavy 
steel traps on his back, besides a lot of 
other things. His load must have weighed 
over two hundred pounds. Yet he set a 
pace which made me wonder if ten miles 
[ 70 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


were not enough for one tramp. I had not 
gone a hundred yards from camp when I 
stepped on one of my shoes and went head 
first into the snow. There seemed to be no 
bottom to it, and when dad pulled me out 
my eyes, nose, and mouth were full. Mose 
only grinned, and dad said something about 
being careful. I laughed and threw a 
snow ball at Mose just for a joke. I was 
determined not to say anything about the 
pace if I tripped every hundred feet all 
day. 

“There is a good place for a trap,” said 
Mose, as he saw a half-decayed pine stump 
by the side of the trail. “ Guess we’ll make 
a dead-fall here.” 

That was something new to me. 

He took the ax, chopped a hole about 
a foot high, eight or nine inches wide, and 
six or eight inches deep into the stump. 
Then he cut a small spruce and a larger 
one and trimmed off all the branches. He 
nailed a short stick over the hole and 
[ 71 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


trimmed the stump so the small spruce 
pole could move up and down between the 
stump and the stick he had nailed to it. 
He fastened the other end of this pole to a 
tree. Then the larger pole was placed over 
this smaller one. The whole thing was 
supported by a trigger, on one end of 
which was a piece of fresh meat. Whatever 
animal might try to steal the bait was sure 
to be caught, as the weight of the poles 
would fall on its back, holding it a prisoner. 

“That is good for a mink, anyway,” 
declared Mose, as we moved along. 

Mose made one of these dead-falls about 
every quarter of a mile. 

“This is a good place for a lynx,” he 
said. “Better set a trap here.” 

He dug the snow from under the roots 
of an old fallen tree and pushed far back 
in the hole a large piece of venison. In 
front of it he placed a large trap fastened 
by a drag. 

“ Good thing to set these traps well back, 
[ 72 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


so no deer or moose can get in them,” he 
said, as we started on our way. 

“We’ll swing down the side of the moun- 
tain and set a few traps along the river,” 
he continued. “May get some otter down 
there.” 

When we reached the stream it was much 
easier traveling. 

“You stay here,” said Mose. “I will 
run back in this thicket and make a dead- 
fall for mink.” 

Dad and I started up the river at a slow 
pace, to keep warm. “ Move cautiously,” 
said dad, as I walked ahead of him. “There 
is no sign of any trail, and there may be 
some thin ice. There is a blaze on the tree, 
which might mean that the trail turns off 
here.” 

The words were scarcely out of dad’s 
mouth when I went crashing through the 
ice. I sank out of sight. The swift cur- 
rent caught my legs and carried them 
under. I clutched the edge and tried to 
[ 73 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


pull myself up, but it broke. Again I 
reached for a hold and just caught with 
my fingers. The water was tugging at my 
body. Then I felt something touch my hand. 

“Grab that,” dad shouted. “Hold on 
to it for your life.” 

Dad had pulled off his coat and thrown it 
to me, while he held one sleeve. 

“Hold tight till I pull you up,” he 
shouted again. 

I tried to climb out, but the ice was so 
thin that it broke every time I put my weight 
on it. 

“My fingers are so numb I cannot hold 
the coat,” I cried. 

“Hold fast a second more,” came back 
word from dad. 

He threw the sash he had wrapped about 
him. 

“Hold the coat by your teeth and tie 
that sash into your belt,” he commanded. 
“The current can’t take you then, if you 
lose your grip.” 


[ 74 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Just then there was a big splash in the 
snow and water. Mose threw a long pole 
across the broken ice, climbed out on it, 
and seized me by the collar. 

“ Close call,” he gasped, as he stood me 
on solid snow. “This is one of the mean- 
est places in the river, — swift water which 
only freezes in the coldest weather, and 
then with thin ice. The trail turns off by 
that blaze.” 

“If we do not get his clothes off,” said 
dad, “he will be a solid cake of ice in a few 
minutes.” I was shivering, chilled to the 
bone. There was not a dry stitch on me. 

“You strip him and give him a good' 
rubdown while I build a fire,” said Mose, 
as he started off with his ax. 

Such a rubdown as dad gave me ! I was 
red all over as a moose steak. 

Mose soon had a roaring fire. They 
wrapped me in sweaters, coats, and bags, 
and placed me to roast before the blaze. 

“The worst proposition here is trousers,” 

[ 75 ] 


NED BREIVSTER’S YEAR 


said Mose. “We will just have to wait 
until they dry.” 

It took two or three hours to dry them 
before we started back to the cabin. 

“It is just two miles through the woods to 
the cabin,” said Mose. “We better take 
the short line ; the traveling is good, too.” 

Two big lynxes trotted a few hundred 
yards ahead of us, but we were so anxious 
to reach camp that we made no attempt to 
capture them. 

When Mose went from the cabin to the 
spring to get some water to make a pot of 
hot tea, dad asked : 

“What do you think about trapping, 
anyway, Ned ?” 

“I don’t mind the dip. Never felt better 
in my life. But this trapping business 
seems mighty cruel to me.” 

“Is just a little that way,” dad replied. 

“I think I will let you and Mose do the 
trapping. I can do something else while 
you are going over the line.” 

[ 76 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Dad made no reply, but no more traps 
were put out. I overheard him saying 
something to Mose about trapping. I think 
they agreed that Mose should attend a 
few traps for his own profit, but neither 
of us ever went over the line after that first 
day. 


[ 77 ] 


N E D B R EIVS T E R’ S YEAR 


CHAPTER SIX 

LOST IN THE WOODS 

I TRIED to study at least two hours 
each day, having promised dad that I 
would keep up my history and science. 
They were the two things I liked, anyway. 
But there was so much going on each day, 
and I took so many long tramps, that I 
found it difficult to keep to my schedule. 

One day I was in the cabin studying my 
physiology when dad came along and sat 
down beside me. 

“You are not forgetting to study the 
science all around you, are you, my boy ?” 
he asked. “You have the best chance of 
your life now to study nature.” 

Dad held the skin of a fox in his hands. 
It had been prepared carefully, with the 
head of the fox on the skin, that it might 
be stuffed. 


[ 78 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


“Did you ever notice,” he asked, holding 
up the skin, “how close the nostrils of a 
fox are together ? Why are they so near 
and on the front of his face ? ” 

He surely had me that time. I had 
never thought of such a thing. It really 
seemed to me like a foolish question. 

“Why, because all animals have them 
that way,” I answered. 

“Now, lad,” said dad, “you just put 
down that book, take the big field glasses, 
go out in the woods, and examine the nose 
of everything you see. Look carefully at 
the deer, the moose, rabbits, — anything 
you can find.” 

That seemed to me the most foolish 
thing dad had ever suggested. To give up 
the study of physiology for the study of 
noses, — well, I felt dad needed to get his 
equilibrium sure enough. Yet it was such a 
queer suggestion that I was taken with it, 
after all, and started over the ridge. 

About two hundred yards back of the 
[ 79 ] 


NED BREIVSTER’S YEAR 


camp I spied a big deer. He was coming 
toward me, through an open hardwood 
grove. I sat down in the snow behind a 
small spruce and waited for him to come 
closer. Then I fixed the glasses on his nose. 
It was no more like the nose of a fox than 
day was like night. The nostrils were not 
so close together and they were more on 
the side of his face. 

I walked over to the moose yard, where 
I knew I could find several moose. Creep- 
ing quietly behind a log on top of the knoll, 
behind which they might usually be found, 
I saw a large cow. She had a still different 
kind of nose from that of the fox or the 
deer. 

This set me to thinking of all the different 
noses I had ever seen. I remembered that 
Pedro, our dog, had a flat nose, and both 
nostrils very close together. Then there 
were the small sharp noses of the weasel 
and the mink that I had seen in the traps. 

I sat down on the log to think the matter 

[ 80 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


over. Then it occurred to me that all of 
those animals that had sharp noses, with 
the nostrils close together and in front, 
lived on meat and had to hunt for their 
living. They tracked their prey by the 
scent left on the ground, and hence they 
needed both nostrils close to the track to 
gather what little scent there was. 

Then I made a bold guess at the other 
class of animals, those with the nostrils 
on the sides. They were not dependent on 
tracking animals for their living. Their 
food was mostly vegetable. But they were 
nearly all hunted by men or wild beasts. 
Their lives were constantly in danger, and 
their enemies usually approached behind 
them. Hence they needed nostrils on the 
sides of their faces that they might catch 
any scent coming from their trail. 

I rushed back to the cabin to tell dad of 
my discovery. It was too good to keep. 

“I know about those noses, dad,” I 
shouted before reaching the door. 

[ 81 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


Dad and Mose looked rather amused. 
I was certain, however, that neither of them 
had ever worked out my idea. I repeated, 
with all the enthusiasm of a new discoverer, 
what I had found. 

“Great!” exclaimed dad, apparently as 
glad as I over my find. 

“But what about the big nose of the 
moose?” asked Mose. “Why should he 
have such a homely nose, while the deer has 
such a pretty one ?” 

“That is a sticker,” said dad. 

It certainly was for me. I think it was 
for dad, too. 

We thought over this for some time. 
Then I suddenly remembered that the 
moose I had just watched was nibbling the 
tender ends of the branches of a tree. That 
long, ugly muzzle was just the thing he 
needed for this kind of work. 

Mose looked surprised at my answer, and 
dad looked a little cheap to think I had 
replied before him. 

[ 82 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


“But how about the eyes and ears of 
animals ?” asked dad. 

I was ready for anything now. Dad had 
really awakened a new interest for me, and 
I was off for the woods. 

“I’ll put up a lunch and go out for the 
day,” I said. “Then I will come back 
with an answer to your questions.” 

“Think it is safe for him, Mose?” asked 
dad. 

“Oh, yes. The snow is fresh, and he can 
follow back on his own tracks.” 

“Have you plenty of matches?” asked 
dad, as I started. 

Dad was always anxious that I should 
have a large supply of matches in my 
pocket so I could have a fire if anything 
happened. 

“I am not afraid of getting lost,” I replied, 
as I threw the knapsack over my shoulders. 
“I know all the trails round here.” 

“Put the pistol in your bag for safety,” 
he said, as he ran after me and dropped our 
[ 83 ] 


N ED B R EIV S T E R’S YEAR 


thirty-eight into the sack. “No woodsman 
ever goes out this time of year without a 
gun of some kind.” 

I had been tramping about an hour when 
I discovered an owl hidden securely, as he 
thought, in a dark pocket of a spruce grove. 

“ This is a good place to begin the study 
of eyes,” I thought to myself. 

Two large eyes, out of all proportion to 
the size of the bird, looked at me out of the 
shadows. I noted through my glasses that 
they were set directly in front of the head. 
Hence the owl could not see behind him. 
Here was a good starting point. 

How about the eyes of other birds ? 
Some little chickadees were hopping nerv- 
ously about the trees. Looking through 
my glasses, I saw their eyes were on the 
sides of their heads. They could see be- 
hind as well as in front. 

All the birds I found that day — the 
moose bird, the jays, the juncos, the hawks, 
— had eyes on the side of the head. Not 
[ 84 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


one that I could find had eyes like the 
owl. The woodpeckers hammered away 
at their work, yet their eyes were so 
arranged that they could easily see my 
approach and flit away from danger. 

The thing I had discovered about animals 
did not seem to hold with birds. I could 
not divide them into birds that hunt and 
that are hunted. The hawks hunt, yet 
their eyes are not on the front but on the 
sides of their faces like all other birds. 

Then it occurred to me that owls and 
hawks hunt at different times, one at night 
and the other in the daytime. The hawks 
soar high in the air, looking for their prey, 
and hence they need a wide range of vision. 
The owl hunts at night. In the dim 
shadows of the forest he needs both eyes 
concentrated in front of him. If he is to 
catch tiny insects flying in the darkness or 
pick a small bird from its roost, he needs 
large eyes, and all the power of both of 
them directed to one spot. 

[ 85 ] 


NED B REW ST E R’ S YEAR 


I wondered what dad would think of 
this theory. I had spent several hours 
working it out, but I thought it worth all 
the time I had given to it. 

Looking at the sun, I was surprised to see 
how near it was to the horizon. I had 
spent four or five hours studying the eyes 
of these birds and must have traveled 
several miles from home. It would be like 
following a maze to follow my tracks back, 
but I was certain I could do it. 

I sat on a log to eat my lunch, the first 
time I had thought about hunger. A 
light snow began to fall, and in a little 
while the entire mountain side looked like a 
fairyland. 

Down below me several deer were making 
their way back to their yard. I sat and 
watched the graceful creatures as they 
traveled along the narrow, well-trodden 
path. 

Suddenly I realized that the fresh snow 
was covering my tracks. I was a long way 
[ 86 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


from the camp and had no idea just where 
I was. I had traveled in and out along the 
ridge, following the winding deer paths, 
thinking only of the birds, and certain that 
I could follow my tracks home. 

They were now just visible under the 
fresh snow. If I hurried, I might follow 
them until I came to familiar territory. 

Hastening down the side of the mountain 
I was able to trace them distinctly for 
some distance. Then I came to a place 
where the snow had drifted, and every 
outline of my track was hidden. I made 
a wide circle, trying to pick it up at some 
point. 

I was without success.. The snow kept 
falling faster, and the wind was blowing 
it in drifts. It was evident that in an hour 
it would be difficult to even follow the 
deer paths. 

I thought I had some idea of the general 
direction toward home. I had kept on one 
side of the ridge. At the foot of it, I felt 
[ 87 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


sure, was a brook leading to the lake near 
our camp. If I could only reach that, I 
was sure of reaching the cabin. 

With this confidence I started down 
the side of the mountain at a brisk pace, 
hoping to reach home before overtaken by 
darkness. 

To my amazement I came to a great 
cedar swamp. So far as I could see there 
was no sign of a brook, but a hopeless tan- 
gle of low cedar and undergrowth. It was 
suicidal to enter this. To climb back on 
the mountain and try again to pick up my 
trail was also hopeless. The snow was 
falling so fast that tracks were soon covered. 

I knew I was lost. I remembered one 
thing dad had told me again and again, 
that if I was ever lost in the woods, to build 
a fire, sit down, and keep warm through the 
night. Then he would point his finger at 
me and say : 

“Now remember, if you are lost, there is 
no use to keep on walking. You will just 
[ 88 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


use up your strength and finally lie down 
and freeze to death. Make a fire and stay 
right there.” 

I had about half an hour before dark. 
I knew it was useless to go any farther, so 
I began to look for a place to build a fire 
and spend the night. 

Mose had told us how he had to sleep 
out one night in the snow without any 
blankets. He said he found an old pine 
stump full of pitch, got it to burning well, 
and then it kept him warm all night. 

Fortunately for me, I found a pine stump 
not far away ; it seemed to be put there 
just for me. It was one that belonged to 
the forest primeval, about three feet through 
and very dry. Near it was an old fallen 
spruce, from which a large supply of wood 
could be broken for fuel. Wood was in 
abundance all about me. I carried loads 
of it and threw it by the old stump before 
lighting a fire. 

Remembering the lean-to we built on 
[ 89 ] 


NED BREIVSTER'S YEAR 


the way into the woods, I thought I might 
make one for the night, though not quite 
so big. I stuck a few poles into the snow, 
braced them well, and covered them with 
boughs. Then I threw over these some 
dry bark and covered them with a deep 
layer of snow. If the fire was a success, 
I was sure I could keep warm. 

I scraped away the snow and put down 
some boughs for a bed. By this time it was 
dark, and I lighted the fire. 

When the flames shot into the air and the 
old pine stump began to crack and sizzle, I 
stood looking into the night like a conqueror. 
I recall how beautiful the white snow looked 
as it came into the light of the fire, against 
the black background of the night. It 
dropped out of darkness and melted in the 
heat. 

There were two sandwiches left in my 
knapsack, and I sat down to eat them 
with real relish. They were good for my 
strength, but not for the peace of my mind. 

[ 90 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


I had not had time to think up to this 
point, but as I sat under the lean-to in the 
warm light of the fire and began to look out 
into the darkness, it seemed to come over 
me all at once that I was lost. If it had 
not been so terribly dark, I am sure I would 
have run, trusting to luck to guide my feet 
home. 

I began to realize the spookiness of the 
world beyond the light of my fire. Strange 
noises crept into the silence, and the wind 
sang lonesome tunes through the tops of 
the trees. Even the snapping of the fire 
began to get on my nerves and make me 
jump. 

Then I thought of dad. He would cer- 
tainly lose his equilibrium now. My care- 
lessness might so upset him that he would 
lose what he had gained. 

All of these things ran through my mind, 
until from exhaustion I found myself get- 
ting sleepy. I wondered if it might be 
the cold that was creeping over me and the 
[ 91 ] 


NED B REIVS TER'S YEAR 


sleep of death that was coming. I rose to 
shake myself to make sure I was all right. 
Then I put a large piece of wood on the 
fire and lay down again on the boughs. 

I must have dropped to sleep very soon. 
It was eleven o’clock before I was conscious 
again. The fire had burned low, and the 
cold awakened me. Everything was fear- 
fully dark. There was just a little glow 
from the fire against the brush of my lean- 
to. My fingers were numb, and I could 
scarcely stand on my feet, they were so 
cold. 

A sharp report rang through the night. 
If I had not been half asleep, I would have 
known what it was. Again it sounded far 
down the ridge. Dad and Mose were out 
searching for me, and every little way they 
were firing a rifle. 

Jumping for the knapsack, I took out 
the pistol and fired. Back came two quick 
shots, and I knew they had heard me. 

I piled fresh wood on the fire, thinking 
[ 92 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


they might see the light to guide them. 
In a few minutes there was another shot, 
not more than half a mile away. I answered 
it. 

It seemed the longest half mile I had 
ever known any man to travel. I thought 
surely they must have gone off on the wrong 
course. I took the pistol and fired again. 

“Kind of nervous, lad?” came dad’s 
voice right behind me. 

I nearly jumped into the fire. I guess I 
was more nervous than I thought, but I 
would not let them know it. 

“No, warm as toast,” I answered. 
“Guess you were anxious, weren’t you ?” 

“Think we might have been,” answered 
Mose. “I’d be nervous over a dog lost in 
this storm.” 

I saw dad could hardly speak, he was so 
glad they had found me, so I took up the 
conversation with Mose. 

“Don’t you think I look good for a lost 
fellow?” 


[ 93 ] 


NED B REWST E R’ S YEAR 


“Think you have more sense than a 
lot of fellows who have lived in the woods 
all their lives,” Mose answered, as he 
looked at my lean-to and the fire. “How’d 
you build all this without an ax ?” 

“How did you get lost, anyway?” broke 
in dad. “Never supposed a woodsman 
like you would go astray when you could 
follow your tracks back.” 

“Suppose the snow covered them up, 
didn’t it?” added Mose, coming to my 
relief. “Like to have something to eat, 
wouldn’t you ?” 

They thought that I would be frozen 
nearly to death when they found me, so 
Mose had hung a coffee pot on his belt and 
had put a good supply of coffee in his sack, 
with some Jamaica ginger and other stuff 
supposed to be good to revive a frozen 
boy. 

In a few minutes Mose had melted enough 
snow to make half a pot of water, and it 
was soon boiling over the hot coals. I was 
[ 94 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


not in the habit of drinking coffee, and as a 
rule did not like it much, but the smell of 
that coffee as it boiled and sizzled over into 
the fire was the best thing I ever smelled. 

“Give him a big cup of it, Mose,” added 
dad. “It may make him see all sorts of 
things in his sleep, but it will not make him 
see anything worse than he saw before we 
found him here.” 

We all sat down and drank coffee, and 
ate some bread and cold venison. My, it 
was good ! I thought I had eaten some fine 
meals in the woods, but that was the 
greatest dinner of my life. 

Mose gathered more wood and piled it 
round the old stump. Then we huddled 
close together to wait for morning before 
starting for camp. 

“You did a mighty wise thing, Ned, to 
build this fire and wait for us to come,” 
said Mose, as we snuggled down close to 
one another. 

“Showed sense in this, anyway,” added 
[ 95 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


dad, who was still a little tried over my 
carelessness. 

“I knew a young fellow from the settle- 
ment who froze to death on this very ridge 
last winter,” continued Mose. “He was 
caught in a storm, not a very heavy one, 
either. He kept on walking. Night over- 
took him, and instead of building a fire 
he kept going. He thought he knew where 
he was, but he became confused and went 
just the opposite direction from which he 
thought he was going. People think he 
walked until he grew numb with cold, then 
lay down and never woke up again.” 

“They found him on this ridge ?” I asked. 
The thing began to get rather ghostlike to 
me, and I realized what I had escaped. 

“They never found him until the snow 
began to melt,” answered Mose. “It was 
old Bill Davies who discovered him. Bill 
had a line of traps along here, and one day 
when he was tracking a bear over a light 
snow the tracks led right up to this young 
[ 96 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


fellow. His body was nearly eaten up by 
the bears and the foxes.” 

I could not stand that sort of talk. Being 
lost was bad enough, but to talk about dead 
men when the snow made everything look 
like ghosts, anyway, and the wind howled 
through the trees, was too much for me. 
Dad seemed nervous, too ; at least, I thought 
so when I looked at him. 

“You fellows better get some sleep,” I 
interrupted Mose, hoping the suggestion 
might stop his horrible story. 

“Think you are the one who needs sleep,” 
replied dad. 

“I have had mine. Slept from seven 
o’clock until you came. Guess I can get 
through the night with that.” 

They looked at one another as though that 
could not be possible. 

“Don’t believe me, do you ?” I continued. 
“Well, I just curled up round that fire and 
slept warm as toast.” 

“It is three o’clock now,” said Mose. 
[ 97 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


“In an hour and a half more it will be light 
enough to travel. Better not go to sleep 
until we get back to the cabin.” 

Still, in less than fifteen minutes we were 
all asleep, lying comfortably before the 
great fire, and it was half-past five before 
we awakened. 

I was amazed to see how near we were to 
camp. I could not have been more than a 
mile and a half from home where I built 
the fire. The great cedar swamp I had 
passed scores of times, but in my confusion 
I failed to recognize it. The very spot 
where I had built my lean-to was not more 
than fifty feet from the trail leading to our 
line of traps. When we walked right into 
the camp yard, within thirty minutes after 
leaving the lean-to, I felt more lost than 
ever. I could not believe that so short a 
walk could bring us to our cabin. Then 
I realized for the first time how confused 
a man is when he is lost, and the wisdom 
of just sitting down and building a fire. 

[ 98 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


CHAPTER SEVEN 

THE CARIBOU HUNT 

W E stored our fresh meat in a small 
shed, temporarily erected for the 
purpose, a few yards from the 
cabin. We were able to keep large quanti- 
ties, as it froze and there was no thawing 
weather. The thermometer seldom went 
above zero, and many of our days had been 
below that mark. Whenever we wanted 
any meat, Mose sawed or chopped off a few 
pieces and put them on the stove to thaw. 

One morning he came into the cabin 
with several beautiful, blood-red moose 
steaks. 

“When are we going to have some other 
kind of meat?” asked dad. “Moose is 
good, but a man gets tired of one kind. It’s 
going against me.” 

[ 99 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


“Well, there are plenty of partridges,” 
replied Mose. “Guess we better send Ned 
out to snare some of them.” 

“Snare partridges !” I exclaimed. “You 
might just as well talk of snaring golden 
eagles.” 

“The easiest thing in the world,” said 
Mose. “You get a little piece of copper 
wire, make a loop on one end, and then 
fasten the wire to a pole.” 

I did as Mose directed, and after break- 
fast we set out. The spruce partridges 
could be found almost anywhere in the 
woods. They were very tame, but I did 
not believe we could get close enough to 
snare them. 

We had gone only a little way from camp 
when we nearly stepped on a fine old cock 
bird. He had hidden in the snow as a 
protection against the cold. One more step 
would have made him a prisoner. 

“See where the old critter plunged in,” 
said Mose, as the bird made his way out 
[ 100 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


of the snow, throwing it all over us in his 
frantic efforts to escape. 

“That is the way the foxes get so many 
of them,” he continued. “You never see 
large flocks of these spruce birds. They’re 
so stupid the varmints get most of them.” 

“ There’s not much sign of stupidity about 
this bird,” I replied, as I saw him sail off 
through the heavy spruce growth. “We 
will not have many for dinner if they are 
all like this one.” 

“We’ll get more than we want,” said 
Mose. “ We’ll hook enough out of one tree.” 

We had gone only a little farther when 
Mose discovered half a dozen in a clump of 
small spruce. They were perched upon the 
dry limbs of a pile of brush, warming them- 
selves in the sun. 

“Here’s our dinner,” said Mose. 

The birds showed no signs of fear. Some 
of them hopped into the small bushes, 
but none of them made any effort to fly. 

Mose reached forth the pole, slipped the 

[ 101 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


noose over the head of the largest bird, and 
pulled him down as easily as a clerk takes his 
toy bird from the shelf. He repeated this 
several times until there was not a bird left, 
and we had six fine partridges to add to our 
supplies. 

“These birds seem to be put into our 
northern woods for a good purpose,” said 
Mose, as we turned back to camp. “I 
was just sitting down to supper late one fall 
with a party of hunters — we were in this 
very cabin — when the wildest looking man 
you ever saw came to the door. His clothes 
were nearly torn from him, and his shoes 
were hanging in strips to his feet. He had 
no hat and his hair was long and matted. 
One of the men with me was so frightened 
he got up from the table and walked over 
to his rifle.” 

“ Was the man crazy ? ” I asked. 

“He was either crazy or trying to escape 
the sheriff,” continued Mose. “He never 
even said ‘Good evening’ when he came 
[ 102 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


to the door, but asked for something to eat. 
We told him to sit down and help himself, 
and, you take my word for it, when he got 
through there was not a scrap of food left 
on the table. Though we had more than 
enough for three men, he ate it all.” 

“Did he stay all night with you ?” 

“He never said a word all the time he was 
eating. When he finished, he walked out 
of the door and started away without even 
expressing any gratitude for his meal. I 
said to him, ‘Better take something with 
you to eat, my friend.’ He turned round 
with that same wild look in his eyes, and 
said, ‘I’ll kill partridges,’ and he went along.” 

“Do you have many men like that in the 
woods ?” I asked. 

“Every few years you hear of some such 
man. They’re usually lumber jacks who go 
crazy ; sometimes they are murderers trying 
to escape. They nearly always starve or 
freeze to death.” 

Something attracted our attention and we 
[ 103 ] 


N ED B REIVS T ER’ S YEAR 


both stopped suddenly. On the hardwood 
ridge beyond us we saw a band of animals 
which were new to me. 

“Caribou,” whispered Mose. “They 
come down here quite often in the winter, 
but in the summer they go farther north.” 

“See them go,” I exclaimed. “How do 
they travel so fast over the deep snow ? ” 

“Their feet are like snowshoes,” said 
Mose. “They are big and spread out so 
they do not sink through the crust as do 
moose and deer.” 

“They must be awfully frightened.” 

“I do not think they are frightened at 
all. They are only playing.” 

“But they must have seen us.” 

“Possibly they did. But so long as a 
caribou does not scent you, he does not 
get nervous. Once he gets your scent, he 
will travel for miles. I saw one cross my 
trail over which I had passed hours before. 
He immediately started on a run and did 
not stop until he was out of my territory.” 

[ 104 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


“Do you suppose these will run far ?” 

“They are the most curious animals you 
ever saw. They’ll probably run until 
they reach a spruce growth. Then they’ll 
stop to find out what we are. They are 
much more curious than moose or deer. 
I’ve called them right up to me by simply 
rubbing the bark of a tree or shaking a 
bush.” 

“We ought to get one to replenish our 
supply of meat,” I suggested. 

“That is easy enough,” replied Mose. 
“We will circle round this hill and get on 
the other side of them.” 

“Let me shoot, Mose? ” I asked. “I have 
not shot one of the big animals yet. You 
know I hit the target about as well as dad.” 

“I’m afraid you’d get the fever,” laughed 
Mose. 

I remembered how I had the buck fever 
when dad shot the big moose, but I felt sure 
I could control myself now. I had added 
much experience since then. 

[ 105 ] 


NED BREIVST E R’ S YEAR 


“ We’ll see what kind of a shot we can 
get,” said Mose. 

I braced myself for fear some sign of 
nervousness would show itself and Mose 
would not let me shoot. 

“ Wait here,” he commanded. “ I’ll climb 
to the top of this knoll and see what’s 
beyond.” 

Mose crept quietly and peeped over the 
crest of snow. He crouched down quickly 
and beckoned for me to come. 

“They’re moving right up this way,” he 
said, pointing down the swale. 

“ There is a big one now,” I said. “ It’s 
close enough to shoot.” 

“That’s a cow,” replied Mose. 

“Is not her meat as good as any ?” 

“Yes, but you must not kill a cow. Wild 
creatures are getting scarce and cows must 
never be destroyed. There is a bull coming 
right behind the cow. Wait now until I tell 
you to shoot.” 

The entire herd stopped, as though they 

[ 106 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


were suspicious of danger. They looked 
about for several minutes ; it seemed to me 
an hour. Then they quietly moved for- 
ward. A cow led the line, and she was not 
more than thirty yards from us. A large 
bull was just behind her. 

“ Shoot !” whispered Mose. 

My gun rang out, and the herd bounded 
into the deep snow. The bull fell in the path. 

“ A great shot,” exclaimed Mose. “He’s 
mortally wounded.” 

I raised my gun to fire again. 

“Don’t shoot,” shouted Mose. “No use 
to ruin more good meat.” 

A minute later I was glad Mose had 
spoken so promptly. The big creature 
gave only a few violent kicks and then lay 
lifeless on the snow. 

“Good shot, Ned,” said Mose, as we 
walked to the bull and turned him over. 
“Right square through the heart.” 

“Dad will not believe it when you tell him 
I did the shooting.” 

[ 107 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


“Now, this is what we had better do,” 
declared Mose. “It would be easier to 
take the hide off when the animal is warm. 
But we will give your father a great sur- 
prise.” 

“How do you mean ?” 

“We’ll go back with the partridges and 
say nothing about the caribou. Then after 
dinner, when your father takes his stroll 
through the woods, we’ll bring the sled 
up and take the caribou down just as he is. 
When your father returns he’ll find him in 
camp.” 

“Great idea,” I exclaimed. 

We strolled leisurely back to camp as 
though nothing out of the ordinary had 
happened. 

“What you shooting up there?” asked 
dad, when he saw us coming. 

“Six birds in one rifle shot is hard to 
beat ? ” questioned Mose, as he held them by 
their legs and swung them in the air. 

“Well, not bad for amateurs,” retorted 

[ 108 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


dad, surprised to see that we had captured 
so many in such a short time. “ Hang them 
up now by their legs until their own weight 
pulls their bodies away, and they will be 
good to eat.” 

“That would be about next June with the 
kind of weather we are having,” answered 
Mose. “Meat doesn’t get mellow very fast 
in freezing weather.” 

“About night some of their legs will drop 
off, if I am not mistaken,” I added. 

“Those are my sentiments,” said Mose. 
“None of those rotten birds for me, when 
I’m hungry for bird meat.” 

“You fellows would eat anything,” de- 
clared dad. “ I suppose I will have to follow 
to keep peace in the camp.” 

“By the way, Ned,” continued dad, 
“I was wondering while you were away 
what you would do if you got separated from 
Mose.” 

“ That’s easy,” I replied. “ I’d just follow 
my tracks back until I found his.” 

[ 109 ] 


NED BREWST ER’ S YEAR 


“But you remember you tried following 
your tracks once, and the snow came and 
covered them.” 

“Well, in that case I would just keep 
cool and not lose my head.” 

“That is good. The first thing is not to 
get nervous. But just keeping cool would 
never get you back to camp.” 

“When I got lost I learned one thing: 
it is more important to know the geography 
of the country you are in than to know the 
geography of the whole world. So I have 
been studying this region. I find the old 
tote road runs almost due east and west. 
Now I always know when I am north or 
south of that road when I go out. If I 
got lost, I would set my compass and take 
a straight line until I came to the road.” | 

“But then you would be as badly off as 
ever. You would not know whether to go 
east or west when you came to the road.” 

“The first thing I would do would be to 
fire my gun. If there was no answer, I 
[ 110 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


would work back and forth on the road 
until I found familiar ground.” 

Mose terminated our conversation by 
his cry, 44 All ashore, going ashore,” — his 
usual call for dinner. 


mi] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


CHAPTER EIGHT 

DAPS SURPRISE 

FTER Mose and I had brought the 



caribou to camp, we went into the 


woods to meet dad and finish his 
stroll with him. We found him standing 
under a big tree looking at the leafless 
branches and closely examining the bark. 

“I’m just learning,” he said, as we ap- 
proached, “that the best time to study 
trees is in winter.” 

“That is the hardest time to tell what 
they are,” replied Mose. “A man has to be 
a good woodsman to know the trees when 
the leaves are off.” 

“You never see the tree until it takes off 
its summer clothes,” dad continued. “Trees, 
like great pictures, gain little from their 


[ 112 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


adornments. Their beauty really depends 
upon their underlying lines and upon the 
elements of their structure.” 

“ They’re something like people, dad,” 
I dared to suggest, thinking that I had 
caught his meaning. “You cannot always 
understand them by their fine clothes.” 

“That is just the idea, Ned,” dad replied. 
“ I have discovered that some of the trees 
we think so lovely in summer are not 
so wonderful, after all. Our sugar maples, 
so beautiful when covered with leaves, do 
not keep their charm in nakedness. Even 
the elm suffers something when the cov- 
ering is withdrawn. It is top-heavy, with 
nothing to break the barrenness of the 
great branches. The oak, after all, is our 
most beautiful tree. It gains nothing from 
the decorations of summer. Every line 
is full of strength. From the roots to 
the farthest tip of the rough spurs there 
is life and vitality.” 

“I like the American elm, whose thread- 
[ 113 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


like twigs make such fine nesting places 
for the squirrels,” I suggested. 

“Yes,” assented dad, glad to see that I 
was observing things. “There is also some- 
thing beautiful about the red maple. Its 
whorls of buds seem impatient for the warm 
days of spring.” 

“You know, dad, I am surprised to see 
so many birds in these trees in winter. 
Cold as it is here I have counted more than 
twenty varieties.” 

“You should have been with me the 
other day when I went after wood,” said 
Mose. “I came across a fox track and 
followed it to some mullein stalks where I 
found feathers which told of a tragedy 
so common to our winter birds.” 

“What were the birds ?” I eagerly asked. 

“Some quail had nestled at the foot of 
the stalks the night before,” he explained. 
“The snow blankets were thrown over them 
by the wind during the night. They prob- 
ably expected to remain all the next day 
[ 114 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


in their snug quarters, when old Reynard 
caught their scent. There was a quick 
fluttering in the snow, but it was too late 
for all to escape. The feathers scattered 
on the snow told of some birds which did 
not answer when the old hen called her 
brood together.” 

“How could you tell the difference be- 
tween the tracks of quail and partridge?” 
I asked. 

“That is very easy,” interrupted dad. 
“The quail has slender toes. The two 
side ones are in an oblique position, while 
the back ones scarcely make any marks 
at all. The tracks of the partridges are 
not so clear-cut. They have bristles on 
each toe, which serve as snow-shoes, making 
a hole in the snow.” 

“These big birds must have hard times in 
winter,” I suggested, “but the wonder to me 
is how the little ones can live at all.” 

“They seem to sing loudest when the 
thermometer is lowest,” said Mose. 

[ 115 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


“I saw a golden crowned kinglet with a 
crest of gold and back of grayish olive- 
green, but little larger than a humming 
bird, flying from tree to tree one day when 
the thermometer was way below zero. He 
kept up a constant zee , zee , zee , picking 
insects from bark and swinging on the 
branches of the evergreens. You would 
have thought his song would have frozen.” 

“I stood under a big pine just back here a 
little way,” said dad. “ There were some 
chickadees fairly bubbling over with good 
spirits. A junco was making a wretched 
attempt to warble. A busy nuthatch 
seemed to be singing all the more lustily 
because the thermometer was low.” 

“Those chickadees are the best things in 
the woods,” added Mose. “No matter how 
severe the storm may be, or how gloomy 
the weather, you always hear their cheering 
song sounding out over the woods. They’ve 
braced up many a man who has lost his 
pluck.” 


[ 116 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


As we were talking, a big, red-headed 
woodpecker flew on to a stump not far from 
where we were standing. His black body 
and his blood-red head made a fine target. 
We could easily understand how careless 
hunters had shot so many of these birds 
which are so valuable to the forests. 

“I have heard it said there were over 
eight hundred varieties of birds in North 
America,” said Mose. “But I say none of 
them are so valuable to the world as wood- 
peckers.” 

“That is just where you are right, Mose,” 
replied dad, “and the way people kill them 
is a shame.” 

“You can talk about your scientific 
foresters,” continued Mose, “but the best 
forester ever put into these regions was a 
woodpecker. He has saved more trees than 
all the men and birds put together.” 

“How do you make that out?” I asked. 
“I have always understood they killed 
trees by boring for the sap.” 

[ 117 ] 


N E D B REIV S T E R’ S YEAR 


“That’s all nonsense,” declared Mose. 
“They may kill a maple or a birch occasion- 
ally. But what they save is worth millions 
of dollars.” 

“Now, I saw one drilling right into the 
bark of a fine old pine only a few days ago,” 
I argued. “Won’t that kill the pines as 
well as the maples ?” 

“You do not understand, Ned, how many 
enemies there are to our forests,” declared 
Mose. “Why, they say they know five 
hundred varieties of insects that prey on 
oaks alone. There are literally hundreds 
of thousands of dollars’ worth of lumber 
destroyed every year in these woods by 
weevils and beetles and borers.” 

“But I do not see how the woodpeckers 
help any by hammering holes in the trees,” 
I declared. 

“Just this way,” Mose pointed out. 

Dad was listening as carefully as I. Much 
of this seemed to be new to him. 

“You see,” continued Mose, “some in- 

[ 118 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


sects harm the trees by attaching themselves 
to the leaves or the outside of the bark. 
Others get between the bark and the wood 
of the tree. They are the ones which do the 
greatest damage.” 

“The woodpeckers get after them,” I 
suggested, beginning to see the point. 

“That is just the idea,” said Mose. 
“They are the only birds which rid the trees 
of these internal pests. I watched a little 
downy woodpecker not more than a month 
ago. He is the smallest of all our wood- 
peckers. He flew to a tree and hopped 
about until he found the spot he wanted. 
Then he began to hammer vigorously. In a 
very few minutes he had a hole large 
enough to see the borer he was after. Then 
he made the hole a little larger, thrust in 
his head, drove his bill into a cavity beyond, 
and then began to pull. Presently his head 
emerged, then his bill, and lastly his long 
tongue with the grub on the end of the 
barbed point.” 


[ 119 ] 


NED BREIVSTER’S YEAR 


“That’s the way they save the forest,” I 
exclaimed. 

“Once I watched a woodpecker work on 
a tree for two days,” Mose continued with 
excitement, as this was a subject on which 
he had great feeling. “You never saw a 
more industrious worker than that little 
bird. He pecked the tree full of holes, and 
he must have dragged out two quarts of 
grubs. Not only did he destroy the beetles, 
but he saved the tree.” 

“Why, then, if they are so useful, do men 
shoot them ? ” I asked. 

“No man ever shoots a woodpecker who 
is around me,” asserted Mose. “If I had 
a sportsman in here who shot one of those 
birds, I would go out of the woods with 
him just as quick as we could pack the 
duffle.” 

“We better get back to camp, then,” 
suggested dad. “We might be tempted to 
shoot one, and it would go hard with us.” 

Mose looked at me with his approval of 

[ 120 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


the suggestion, and we started, giving dad 
the lead on the trail. 

“You know, those shrikes are the mean- 
est birds in the woods,” dad declared, as one 
flew out of the trail in front of him and 
scolded from a near-by tree as we passed. 

“They’re regular murderers,” said Mose. 

“I have seen them catch mice and small 
birds,” said dad, “and drive them against 
sharp limbs of dead trees, leaving them there, 
without any thought of eating them. They 
just like to kill for the satisfaction of doing it.” 

“They not only like to kill,” said Mose, 
“but they love to entice innocent birds 
to their death. They’ll crouch down in 
grass, imitate the song of small birds, and 
call them right up to them, as a man calls 
a moose. Then they murder them in 
cold blood.” 

“What in the name of time is that in front 
of the cabin ? ” exclaimed dad, as we ap- 
proached the camp. 

I was almost dead trying to keep a sober 

[ 121 ] 


NED BREWST E R’ S YEAR 


face. My only salvation was that I walked 
behind. 

“What kind of tricks have you fellows 
been playing on me, anyway?” demanded 
dad, as we made no reply. 

“Thought you wanted some different 
meat, and Ned killed a caribou,” explained 
Mose, in a very indifferent spirit. 

“Ned?” asked dad. 

“Sure!” I shouted. I simply could not 
hold in any longer. “I shot him this morn- 
ing. One shot did the trick, too.” 

“Well, all I have to say, my boy, if you 
shot that animal, you did well. He is a 
noble beast.” 

I never saw dad look so proud over any- 
thing in my life. I guess he felt that I was 
becoming a real hunter and was going to 
make a good shot. I know it would have 
broken dad’s heart had I not been able to 
shoot well. 

We spent the afternoon skinning the 
caribou and preparing the meat. 

[ 122 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


CHAPTER NINE 

FOLLOWING THE DEER PATHS IN WINTER 

O NE night we sat about the big stove. 
The wind howled round the corners 
of our cabin, and the snow beat 
against the windows. The fire popped and 
cracked as though it had a hard time to 
drive away the frost. We had been quiet 
for some time, listening to the storm, when 
dad broke into the silence with words from 
Hiawatha: — 

“ O the long and dreary Winter ! 

O the cold and cruel Winter ! 

Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
Froze the ice on lake and river. 

Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
Fell the snow o’er all the landscape, 

Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest.” 

Then we sat for some time without 
speaking. 


[ 123 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


Finally, as though he could not stand the 
silence any longer, Mose stood up and turned 
his back to the fire. 

“Great winter for old Bill Davies,” he 
said. “Bet he has killed more deer with his 
ax this winter than for many seasons.” 

“And how can he kill deer with an ax ?” 
I asked. 

“ He waits until the deep snow comes, then 
he runs them down on his snow-shoes and 
knocks them in the head.” 

“Deer must be thicker than they are here 
for any such performance as that.” 

Then Mose told us there was a mountain 
about two miles south of our camp. Half- 
way up the mountain was a great cedar 
swamp. Some men say it was once a lake. 
The deer yarded there in great numbers, 
and when the deep snow came man could 
kill them by the scores. 

“Let’s go and see it,” I exclaimed, 
excited by the story Mose had told. 

The next morning the sun rose over the 
[ 124 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


range, and every foot of the landscape 
sparkled as though it had been inlaid with 
diamonds. We had on our snow-shoes and 
were off for Bill’s tramping ground. Our 
black fur caps were tipped with white, while a 
necklace of frost hung about our collars. A 
heavy snow had fallen over the crust, which 
enabled us to move noiselessly. It had 
turned the whole mountain side into a fairy- 
land. Indeed, there was a suggestion that 
Santa Claus ought to drop out of some 
spruce tree sprinkled with feathery snow, 
so Christmas-like was the whole scene. 

We had gone about two miles from camp 
when a big buck suddenly started from his 
sleep under the top of a fallen fir. Seeing 
that his beaten path was held by strange 
creatures, he plunged into the deep snow, 
making lunge after lunge in his desperate 
efforts to escape. He would sink out of sight 
as he fell into the loose snow over a tree top 
and would then stand on his hind legs and 
spring almost straight into the air, some- 
[ 125 ] 


NED BREIVSTER’S YEAR 


times making half a dozen trials before he 
could gain another footing and spring for- 
ward again. But each leap was certain to 
send him floundering once more into the 
snow, only to repeat the struggles. 

We watched the frightened creature for 
several minutes as he spent every ounce of 
his strength to escape, and felt only pity for 
him as we looked into his great eyes bulging 
with fear. He probably remembered old 
Bill Davies, having seen his companions 
under similar conditions go down under the 
blows of Bill’s heavy ax. We would have 
taught the poor creature, as we saw him 
sink into the snow through exhaustion and 
hide behind a snowdrift, that even the 
deer may have friends, had we dared, but 
knowing that a single step in his direction 
would have caused the exhausted creature 
to repeat his frantic efforts, we passed along, 
leaving him to rest and find his way leisurely 
back to the solid path. 

A mile or two farther along, a yearling 

[ 126 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


buck met us just as we were passing over 
a knoll. He was so confused by his sudden 
surprise that he seemed to have lost all 
power of decision. He knew that to sink 
into the deep snow would put him at the 
mercy of his enemies. To come forward 
was impossible, and to turn and run back 
with the enemy so close was a doubtful 
means of procedure. For a full minute he 
stood gazing at us, stamping his front foot, 
as though he would have us trust him if he 
could only be certain of our friendship. He 
had lived long enough to know that the law 
of confidence has no place in the woods, and 
yet he was young enough to have some of the 
confidence of the lamb. Between these two 
tendencies his simple nature was torn. 

“Too bad he cannot talk,” whispered dad, 
who evidently wanted to tell the frightened 
creature we would do him no harm. 

His keen ear, however, caught the sound, 
and not being able to interpret the words, 
he turned and galloped away, though he 
[ 127 ] 


NED BREWSTER' S YEAR 


seemed instinctively to gather the notion 
that we were not dangerous, for he moved 
leisurely, and not as one fleeing from an 
enemy. 

“It is one of the small deer out of the 
yard,” said Mose, as we moved along. 

But the words of Mose, which were in- 
tended to caution me concerning the near- 
ness of the deer yard, were lost, as I suddenly 
discovered snow-shoe tracks which had 
crossed us at right angles. Whoever wore 
them had passed ahead of us within a few 
minutes, as there was not even a sign of 
powdery snow blown into the fresh tracks 
by the gentle breeze which swept round the 
mountain. I pointed to them in silence, as 
Mose approached, to indicate that some 
man was not far away. 

“Old Bill on his line of traps,” was 
Mose’s comment. 

We turned from our course to follow 
the tracks over a little rise of ground to see 
which way old Bill had gone. As we passed 
[ 128 ] 


% 



Cow Moose and Calf. See page 184 
























































. 






















































IN THE BIG WOODS 


round a fallen tree, by the side of which stood 
a hollow stump, we discovered one of Bill’s 
traps. It was a dead-fall built into a 
hollow tree. A fresh piece of venison was 
placed well back in the hollow. To reach 
it a mink or fisher would be compelled to 
step on a trigger which would unloose a 
small log over which rested a heavy spruce. 
It would fall with such weight that it meant 
instant death for whatever small animal 
might be caught beneath it. 

The signs of Bill’s snow-shoes and the 
black hair on the mouth of the hole, clearly 
showed that Bill had taken a fisher from his 
trap that very morning. 

We did not follow him farther, but 
turned back to the path which led up 
the mountain to the deer yards. To our 
right we could see three deer making 
their way to some cedar tops which had 
been cut recently by men who had been 
gathering wood for the camps. There were 
two large deer and a small one, the smallest 
[ 129 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


deer I had seen in the woods. It must 
have been born in August, being scarcely 
larger than some spotted fawns which may 
be seen in the late summer. Its coat was 
nearer to the summer color than that of 
winter. It had certainly lost none of the 
heedless play of the lamb. 

As the old deer moved cautiously, care- 
fully concealing themselves behind some 
tree every half-dozen steps to look over the 
surrounding country, making sure there was 
no enemy in ambush in the old tops, the 
little fellow would play back and forth as 
though it did not know the meaning of 
danger, trying constantly to pass its mother 
and run ahead. But she would put it back 
in its place, and the two older deer kept 
a faithful watch that it remained between 
them. 

The action of these deer was so unusual 
that we concealed ourselves behind some 
small pines to watch their motions. Slowly 
and cautiously they circled the entire clear- 
[ 130 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


ing, keeping themselves hidden in the woods, 
and all the time keeping the little one 
between them. When they concluded there 
was no man in the region, they trotted 
heedlessly as though driven by hunger to 
the tender tips of the cedars, and per- 
mitted the little one to play freely about 
the solid paths and to eat the moss and the 
leaves. 

While we were watching this unusual 
sight, a porcupine climbed a small beach 
tree not far from where we sat. It was 
the fattest creature I had seen in the woods. 
The winter was severe and food was scarce. 
The deer were all poor, and even the strong- 
est were showing the effects of the cold nights 
and days and the small supply of moss and 
leaves. More than one had dropped down 
in the snow and entered that painless sleep 
from which creatures in that cold north 
never awaken. Even the foxes we had 
seen showed by their lank sides that the 
mice had not been over abundant. But 
[ 131 ] 


NED BREWS T E R' S YEAR 


& 


the cold winter made no difference in the 
food of the porcupine. All he had to do 
was to climb a fir tree, chisel enough bark 
to fill his stomach, and creep back into his 
hiding place to sleep and grow fat. 

As we watched him cut his dinner and felt 
the contrast in the easy lot of the sluggish 
creature to the hard lot of the keen, sensitive 
deer which were nibbling from the cedars 
the first satisfying meal they had probably 
had for days, we realized that we were in a 
position where it was impossible to move 
without frightening them from their feeding 
ground. Being below us, they could see the 
least motion against the background of 
white snow. Scarcely had we taken the 
first step on our journey before their heads 
flew into the air and they bounded away, 
still hungry, the little one following at their 
heels. 

The most difficult part of our task lay 
before us. It was the task of creeping near 
the deer yard without being seen. We knew 
[ 132 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


an unusual chance of securing fine pictures 
awaited us if we could approach the yard 
without giving any sign of our presence. 

The yard was in a little pocket on the side 
of the mountain, well protected with a 
growth of spruce and cedar. As we ap- 
proached the yard, we threw aside our 
snow-shoes and put on a pair of mocca- 
sins that were soft as wool, to creep quietly 
along a well-traveled deer path. We moved 
without a sound through the woods, whose 
stillness was broken only by the cracking 
of the trees incased in ice. 

There was not a stone and scarcely the 
trunk of a tree visible in the whiteness. 
The powdery snow clung to every branch 
and twig and covered every log and rock. 
We could not imagine a more perfect world 
of whiteness than the one which lay before 
us. But it was the very whiteness which 
made it difficult for us to creep upon a living 
creature. The least motion could be de- 
tected against the unbroken snow. 

[ 133 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


Our only hope of a successful approach 
was that the little pocket where the deer 
rested was beneath a slight rise of ground. 
Making sure of every step, we moved 
cautiously until we could just look over 
this knoll and see the network of paths 
which made the yard where we hoped to 
find the deer. 

“Under the big cedar,” whispered Mose. 

There stood a huge buck, taking his 
midday rest, with his head well down toward 
the ground and humped up as though 
protecting himself from the cold. Some 
distance from him lay a large doe, chewing 
a leaf and bathing herself in the sun which 
brought some warmth to the little spot 
protected from the wind. Farther away 
stood two smaller deer, lapping each other’s 
necks in a trustful affection which seemed 
out of place in creatures so wild and suspi- 
cious of the whole world. It was a delight 
to look into the home of a deer family when 
alone, with no thought of danger. All the 
[ 134 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


nervousness and tension which we associate 
with them was absent, and they were 
as trustful and affectionate as the lambs 
of our fields. 

But after all of our caution there seemed 
to be no possibility of securing a picture 
of the entire family. At best we could 
only secure a picture of one or two. We 
decided to lie down in the snow and wait 
until they came together, and we could get 
the family group. 

Our waiting was not altogether loss, as 
not more than a hundred feet below us 
a great red-headed woodpecker flew into a 
decaying stump and began hammering for 
dinner. These rare creatures are always 
beautiful birds, but never has one seemed 
so beautiful as this black and white and red 
creature as he worked against the pure snow 
and made the light, fluffy flakes fly from 
the old log by his vigorous pounding. 

We were suddenly awakened from our 
interest in the woodcarver by a quick 
[ 135 ] 


N ED B R ElV S T E R’ S YEAR 


motion of the deer. Something had fright- 
ened them, and they all bounded over the 
ridge in our direction. As I raised my 
camera, the old buck and doe stood in 
plain sight, while the two little ones were 
peeping over the rocks. I quickly snapped 
my camera, thankful for so many of the 
group together. 

But what was this noise coming down the 
mountain which the deer had detected long 
before our dull ears had caught the sound? 
Crunch, crunch, crunch ! It was old Bill’s 
snow-shoes coming to the yard. We caught 
just a glimpse of him. His heavy ax was 
over his shoulder, and in his hand he was 
dragging a fisher. He was evidently on 
mischief bent, and the excited deer seemed 
to know the meaning of his approach. 

As every means of escape from the yard 
was closed, the doe bounded away into the 
deep snow. The old buck seemed to know 
the situation better and was determined to 
stand his ground and fight. The two little 
[ 136 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


ones jumped into the pathless snow and 
were soon swamped. 

Old Bill, who had not discovered us, 
evidently saw the small deer in their des- 
perate situation and was hastening his 
steps to complete his savage work. He 
swung across the open yard, making his 
snow-shoes rattle on the crisp snow of the 
beaten paths, and was just taking his ax 
from his shoulder when Mose exclaimed : 

“Good morning, Bill.” 

The old man stopped for a second as 
though he had been hit by a ball, then swung 
toward us, keeping his ax on his shoulder, 
and holding his fisher as though he had had 
no other purpose than to turn down the 
mountainside toward his cabin. 

“Blusterin’ hard on small deer in the deep 
snow,” he said, as though he had only 
sympathy for the poor creatures. “ ’Spect 
a lot of them will be dyin’ this winter.” 

“Seen any dead ones, Bill ?” asked Mose. 

“No. They’re in the snow, so you don’t 
[ 137 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


see them,” he replied, as he hurried past 
down the mountain, apparently not caring 
to prolong the conversation or encourage 
the acquaintance. 

We waited until the deer were all back in 
the hard paths where they could escape 
danger, and saw them scamper away before 
we left the yard to follow Bill’s steps down 
the mountain. The story Mose had told 
around the big stove of the tragedy of 
slaughter had become a reality. Our reali- 
zation of the great odds against which the 
deer have to struggle had been deepened. 


[ 138 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


CHAPTER TEN 

THE WOLF HUNT 

LD Bill Davies was one of the few 



men left in the woods who makes a 


* living entirely by gun and traps. He 
was a silent creature, of very few words, 
even when you became well acquainted with 


him. 


On our way back from the deer yards, 
Mose said to dad : 

“If you could learn old Bill’s secret of 
catching pickerel, you would never go hungry 
in these woods. That lake by his cabin is 
full of big pickerel, yet no man ever catches 
them except Bill.” 

“How is that?” asked dad. 

“He has a secret no man has ever 
learned.” 

“Well, let’s see if we can’t get it,” said 


[ 139 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


dad. Mose declared he knew there was no 
use, but dad said he would like to try. So 
we set out as a band of detectives to learn 
old Bill’s secret, which had been jealously 
sought by so many men. 

Dad said the first thing was to get his 
friendship. So two or three days later 
we started for Bill’s cabin with a whole 
hind quarter of a moose. The old trapper 
heard us coming and stood in his door to 
meet us. He had long, dirty whiskers, and 
his face looked as though it had not been 
washed for years. His trousers resembled 
gunny sacks and his coat suggested a mouse- 
eaten potato bag. He reminded me of some 
old hermit who had just awakened from the 
sleep of centuries. 

“Morning, Bill,” exclaimed Mose. 

“Morning,” Bill grumbled, as though he 
felt our visit could not be altogether friendly. 

“Brought you over a quarter of moose,” 
said dad. “Had more than we could use 
and did not want to see it spoil.” 

[ 140 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Bill’s only reply was a little grunt, which 
might have been interpreted in many ways, 
but Mose knew it to be the language of 
approval. 

In front of the cabin was a sled loaded 
with an ice pick, pickerel lines, and poles. 

44 Going fishing, Bill?” asked Mose, in 
an indifferent mood. 

44 Just going down to put out a few lines,” 
he replied, with the usual unconcern of 
these woodsmen. 

“Don’t let us stop you,” said dad. 44 Just 
came to pass the time, and we’ll go down 
with you.” 

The idea did not seem to awaken any 
enthusiasm in Bill, but not wanting to be 
unneighborly, he put on his cap and started 
away with the sled. We noticed that he 
went to a part of the lake where he had 
not previously cut any holes. He did not 
want us to know the best fishing places. 
In a very short time he had cut a dozen 
holes and had the lines in the water. 
[ 141 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


“You don’t use flags in your fishing?” 
dad inquired, as he looked down the line of 
holes where he had set the poplar poles. 

“No, they’re jist fer sports. They’re 
better to lose fish on than to catch ’em.” 

“What is best?” asked dad, trying to 
get at the secret of his success. 

“Jist a stick.” 

“You use live bait, I suppose ?” 

“No, jist hunks of meat.” 

Then he started off on his snow-shoes 
toward a stick that was shaking under the 
tug of a big pickerel and with one even pull 
landed him in the snow. 

We soon found that we had come in vain 
to learn his secret. If he had any special 
knowledge, he would not reveal it. He 
would not even talk on his fine art. Ques- 
tions closed his lips. Every effort to con- 
verse about his work only made him silent. 

We discovered, however, that our journey 
had been made for something more inter- 
esting than the secrets of pickerel fishing. 

[ 142 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Suddenly awakening from one of his 
silent moods, the old trapper pointed to a 
little neck of land which ran some distance 
into the lake toward his line of hooks. 

“A big fox ran out there within three 
hundred yards of me,” he said. “ It was the 
queerest thing I ever saw. He jist trotted 
all round as though he’d like to have one 
of my fish. I hollered at him, but he paid 
no attention. He lay down in the snow 
and rolled over and over and played till he 
got tired. You’d thought he was a little 
pet pup.” 

“I suppose you never see any wolves 
here?” asked dad, led by the interest 
awakened by the fox. 

Bill nervously tried his line three or 
four times, looked up and down the line of 
poles, then with a great deal of assurance 
said : 

“I ain’t heered a wolf in these parts since 
I been a boy till last night. As I was 
goin’ home about dusk, I heered a howl 
[ 143 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


on the ridge yonder that fairly riz me off 
my feet.” 

We were soon on the ridge sauntering 
through the yellow birch and sugar maple, 
trying to pick up the trail of the solitary 
wolf which might still inhabit the New 
Brunswick wilderness. We had gone only 
a short distance when we found a place 
where it seemed as though a herd of cattle 
had been wallowing through the deep snow. 
A quick examination indicated that two 
huge bull moose had engaged in fierce 
combat. The snow was covered with hair 
and a few drops of blood could be seen on 
the white surface. Great trenches were 
dug in the snow where they had apparently 
forced one another back and forth in the 
trial of strength. 

But why should they be fighting in winter 
when there was no mate to win ? Our 
theory seemed improbable. 

A closer examination revealed the foot- 
prints of the wolf. He had attacked the 
[ 144 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


d)ull in the deep snow, had inflicted slight 
wounds, but was not able to bring down 
the giant of the wilderness. 

Intense hunger alone could have induced 
the wolf to undertake such desperate odds, 
and after a long struggle, which only 
brought him additional fatigue and hunger, 
he had trotted off through the woods to 
find smaller prey to satisfy his appetite. 

A few feet from the scene of the combat 
was a well-tramped snow-shoe path which 
led round the ridge on the line of traps. To 
our great surprise the wolf had followed 
this trail, and we pursued in the hope of 
finding him in some of the dead-falls. 

Nothing less than starvation could have 
induced him to follow the path of the 
trapper. While a pack of wolves in the 
far north may follow for miles on the track 
of a man and attack him, the stray wolves 
of our forests have long since lost the 
courage to undertake such feats of bravery. 
They bound away into the heart of the heavy 
[ 145 ] 


NED BREWS T E R y S YEAR 


wilderness on the least indication that man 
is near. The fact that this creature bravely 
followed along the well-beaten path of man 
was a clear indication that he was near 
starvation. Hence there was great hope 
that he might be taken within a short 
distance along the line. 

Our examination of the first trap, however, 
showed that we were on the trail of a wolf 
acquainted with all the arts of the trapper. 
Scenting a hind quarter of venison which 
had been pushed well back into a hollow 
under the roots of a fallen tree with only 
one narrow entrance, in which was set a 
large steel trap, he had cautiously scratched 
away the snow for some distance until he 
had discovered the iron chains which held 
the trap. Then he had trotted along, 
leaving the sweet venison in spite of his 
hunger. 

At the next trap he was more fortunate. 
Bill had set a dead-fall in the hollow of a 
decayed tree in which a mink had been cap- 
1146] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


tured. Evidently it had not been killed 
by the fall of the log, but had been held by 
the hind parts of its body. At any rate, the 
drops of blood upon the snow indicated 
that the little mink had not been frozen in 
death when the wolf stole him from the 
trapper to fill his empty stomach. 

He had tried in turn every trap along the 
line. In one was a fisher, which had prob- 
ably been dead for several days. Whether 
the wolf refused to eat dead animals or 
smelled something about the trap which 
indicated poison, we could not tell. He 
ran along the path to other traps, each one 
of which he inspected, leaving a dead 
marten in one, passing several legs of 
venison, and taking only one small weasel 
to complete his stolen meal. 

That night we returned to camp with 
high hopes of capturing a wolf within a few 
days. He had discovered a new way of 
securing his food, and we felt that patience 
to sit by this path, waiting for him to 
[ 147 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


come, was all that was necessary for his 
capture. 

The next morning by daylight we were 
on the trail, well hidden in a clump of small 
spruce to wait his approach. It was bitter 
cold ; every tree was cracking in the frost, 
and the leaves of the evergreens hung 
stiff and heavy. There was not a sign of 
life; even the chickadees did not come out 
of their hiding places until noon, and soon 
flitted back out of the chill wind. The red 
squirrels stayed in their nests. The woods 
were frozen in silence, except as the silence 
was broken by the ripping sounds of burst- 
ing tree trunks. 

All day we waited, wrapped in heavy 
blankets and protected as much as possible 
by holes dug in the snow. But the wolf 
did not appear, and as the sun went down 
the bitter sting of the frosty air so increased 
our discomfort that we returned to camp, 
having a better knowledge of the winter 
woods, but without the skin of the wolf. 
[ 148 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


We repeated this vigil for four days. 
One afternoon, returning early from our 
watch, we discovered the tracks of the wolf 
on the shore of the lake not far from old 
Bill’s camp. We followed the track only 
a little way through a heavy cedar swamp, 
when we discovered the secret of our 
failure. Like a Russian secret police, he 
had kept in hiding near Bill’s camp and had 
covered all our movements. Each morning 
he had trotted to the shore of the lake, 
watched us as we made our way to the line 
of traps, then had gone in the opposite 
direction for his hunt. 

Seeing that we were outwitted in our 
attempt to capture him on the trail, we 
quickly devised another plan, which we 
felt certain would bring success. Early 
one morning, in company with the old 
trapper, our pack baskets filled with heavy 
traps, we started for the trail in a new 
direction. Taking the path which led to- 
ward civilization, we followed it for some 
[ 149 ] 


N ED B REITS T EFT S YEAR 


distance. Then we turned to our right to 
meet the line of traps at their farthest 
point from camp, thus hoping not to awaken 
the suspicions of the wolf. With all the 
skill and care of which we were capable, we 
set more than fifty traps in the snow-shoe 
path, covering each trap with snow and 
leaving the clear imprint of a snow-shoe 
over each freshly covered trap. Then we 
returned the way we had come. 

That night we stayed with Bill. About 
nine o’clock there was a howl on the ridge, 
the only time we had heard the wolf bark. 
Springing from our bed of boughs, we rushed 
out into the clear, crisp night, half hoping 
we might hear the sound coming from the 
direction of our traps. As we listened, 
across the lake a deer ran out of the woods 
into the glare of the moonlight. Not far 
behind came the wolf in wild pursuit. 
Not wanting to disturb him, we did not 
follow the next morning to see if he had 
captured his prey. But if we had never 
[ 150 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


caught another glimpse of him, it would 
have been worth all the energy we had 
spent to see that one chase across the 
lake. 

Three days later we went over the line 
of traps. The wolf had preceded us. 
Leisurely he had trotted along, examining 
each trap, until he came to that part of the 
trail where the traps had been set for him. 
Then, as though suddenly frightened, he 
had jumped from the trail into the pathless 
snow. With long leaps he made his way 
down the mountain toward the lake. As 
though to mock our efforts, we discovered 
that he had come out of the woods not 
more than a dozen yards from where we 
had entered. 

The next morning the old trapper started 
early, just as the first streaks of light touched 
the highest tips of the pines, to examine a 
line of traps which extended in the opposite 
direction. He had not gone far when we 
heard the crack of his pistol. In a few 
[ 151 ] 


NED B REWST ER y S YEAR 


minutes he returned to camp, dragging a 
yellow carcass on the snow. 

“A little yellow bitch,” said Bill, as he 
threw the lifeless form of a wolf on the 
snow in front of his cabin. “She’s the one 
they wounded here last fall.” 

She had only a stump of one front leg. 
The bone had been broken by a rifle ball. 
The inflamed condition of the remaining 
part showed that the useless member had 
rotted away. 

All winter she had hidden in a protected 
place under the roots of a fallen tree. The 
old wolf had faithfully provided her with 
food. She was his mate. Each day or 
night he had gone over the line of traps or 
ran over the ranges in search of food to 
keep her fevered body from starvation, 
and to bring her through the long, hard 
winter until she could do her own hunting. 

The old trapper accidently caught a 
glimpse of her as she was hobbling from 
her drinking place back to the thicket 
[ 152 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


where she hid. A single shot ended her 
long struggle for life. 

All day the wolf continued a mournful 
howl through the woods. We took our 
positions in the best hiding places, hoping 
that his eager search for his mate would 
bring him within range of our guns, but he 
seemed to know where we were and evaded 
us. From far away on some little knoll he 
would raise his sad cry and wait for a 
response. Then from another hill his plain- 
tive voice would be heard. But the answer 
never came, and as the sun set, the hills 
echoed one long, mournful note, a note of 
despair, the last one we heard. 

That night I opened the door of the 
cabin just in time to see him spring out of 
the moonlight into the forest. He had 
found his mate, and at the risk of his life 
had tried to take her poor wounded body 
back to the hiding place, but he had found 
her dead, and returned alone. 

At break of dawn we discovered his 
[ 153 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


tracks leading toward the north. They 
went in a straight line, far as we could 
follow, never turning. 

It was the last sign of the wolf, a solitary 
trail. 


[ 154 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 

LITTLE SINGLE HOOF 

WEEK later we were tramping 



through the woods on our way to a 


large beaver colony which was within 
Bill’s trapping range. Mose was anxious to 
see if Bill had destroyed it during the winter. 

“How would he set traps for beavers?” 
I asked. 

“He wouldn’t set any traps,” Mose 
replied. “ He has a way quicker than trap- 
ping.” 

“How is that? ” I questioned, anxious 
to know the secret. 

“He would frighten the beavers out of 
their house. As they rushed into the pond 
they would fill their lungs with air. Then 
they would put their noses against the ice 
and let all the air out. That would make 


[ 155 ] 


NED BREIVSTER'S YEAR 


a big white bubble against the ice, into 
which the beaver would put his nose, and 
where he could breathe for some time. 
Bill can see the bubble through the ice, and 
wherever he sees one he strikes the ice with 
his ax. That frightens the beaver. He 
takes in as much of the air as he can and 
swims to another place, but he breathes in 
less air than he let out. Bill finds him 
again and sends him to another part of the 
pond. This he repeats several times, until 
finally the beaver’s air is gone and he dies.” 

The story was suddenly interrupted by 
a small deer just in front of us rolling in the 
snow. She was in one of old Bill Davies’ 
bear traps. 

The sharp teeth of the trap had cut away 
half of her foot, which she had torn from 
the iron jaws in her effort for freedom. The 
other foot was held securely as she pulled 
and floundered in her effort to release 
herself. We found the exhausted creature 
lying in the snow, too weak from loss of 
[ 156 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


blood and frantic effort to rise when we 
approached. 

She had not reached her first birthday, 
this little doe, as sleek as any that could 
be found in the March woods. She 
seemed to know her situation was helpless, 
that the cruel man who set a trap for her 
could take her life if he chose. Without 
moving a muscle, she simply looked at us 
with the great innocent eyes of a lamb, 
seeming to plead for mercy. 

Mose quietly approached and put forth 
his hand to stroke her neck. There was 
an instinctive quiver which ran through 
her muscles, a withdrawing of her head. 
But the quiet ways of Mose, and his slow, 
even motions finally won her confidence; 
she seemed to divine that we were friends. 

As Mose continued to talk in a low 
monotone and stroke her fur, she raised her 
captive leg as though to plead for help. 
When the great springs were crowded down 
and the jaws of the trap opened, little 
[ 157 ] 


NED BREIVS TER'S YEAR 


Single Hoof, as we afterward named her, 
instead of bounding away into the woods as 
we expected, rose slowly to her feet and 
rubbed against dad’s side. His arm fell 
over her neck and his hand patted her head. 
She apparently could not come close enough 
to rest under our protection or to show her 
gratitude for our kindness. 

She followed us back to the cabin. But 
as we had no hay for her or other food, 
except what could be gathered from the 
trees, after caring for her for a few days 
until her foot had healed, we took her to 
the lumber camp, about three miles over 
the ridge. In a few days she was the pet 
of the camp. She ate biscuits out of the 
hands of the men and followed them into 
the woods, where she shared their lunch. 
As the horses ate their hay by the side of 
the logging roads, she stood by them and 
nibbled the choice straws. Often she might 
be seen playing in front of the teams as 
they were going home at night. Her imper- 
[ 158 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


feet foot was her sign wherever she went. 
Whenever a lumber jack saw her mark 
in the snow, he would stop his work and 
bleat to see if she would jump out of the 
brush in answer to his call. 

Men who looked upon deer in general as 
a means of supplying meat to displace the 
diet of salt pork, and who, against all rules 
of the camp, stole a gun into the woods 
each day to kill a kingly buck for sweet 
meat to roast over a crackling fire, looked 
upon Single Hoof as an animal of a different 
order. They would sit about the roaring 
fire at night relating some new venture 
with Single Hoof or telling of her marvelous 
skill at play. The man who won from her 
the greatest sign of confidence recited his 
story to envious ears, as a knight of the 
round table might have related to his proud 
rival how he won some fine attention from 
the favorite lady of the court. He was 
certain to find abundant competitors the 
next day, — even some who stole sugar from 
[ 159 ] 


N ED B REIVS T ER’ S YEAR 


the cook to tempt Single Hoof to closer 
friendship. 

But Single Hoof could not lose quite all 
her fear of man, and we never lost an 
opportunity to increase her distrust, know- 
ing that old Bill Davies’ cabin was not far 
away. Some day she would fall a victim 
of his deadly gun, as she had already 
suffered from his trap, if she lost her fear 
of her greatest enemy. More than once we 
were unpopular in the camp because we 
had given her a fright during the day. 

The pig-pen was her favorite playground 
because it was a rich feeding place. Grain 
and hay and potato parings were there in 
abundance, and when the pig was in his 
hovel, sleeping warmly, Single Hoof would 
leap over the fence into his small inclosure 
and feed to her delight into the small 
hours of the night. 

Other deer soon discovered Single Hoof’s 
feeding place. In a few days there were 
several well-traveled deer paths leading from 
[ 160 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


the woods to the pen. One night we stood 
in the shack where beans were baked for 
the camp and watched six deer feeding 
together on the garbage which had been 
thrown into the pen that day by the cook. 
In the number was a buck which must 
have evaded the hunter for many seasons, 
judging by his size as he stood out in the 
moonlight above the other deer. He might 
easily have been mistaken for a moose by 
the inexperienced eye, so tall did he seem 
among the smaller deer. One large doe 
took her position where she could see the 
back door of the kitchen. Another was 
posted as sentinel to watch the other side 
of the hovel to see that no one crept upon 
them undiscovered. They were all deliber- 
ate. Lowering their heads just long enough 
to seize a mouthful of food, they would 
swing them into the air again, turn their 
huge ears forward to catch the faintest 
sound, and chew their food long enough to 
satisfy the slowest eaters. 

[ 161 ] 


NED B REW S T ER’ S YEAR 


The cook, discovering that deer were so 
plentiful at the very door of his kitchen, 
and wanting meat for breakfast, set a bear 
trap in the pen. 

The stillness of the forest night was soon 
broken by a pleading bleat, as of a lamb 
in pain. The noise of breaking timbers, 
the crashing of the fence by the struggling 
deer, aroused the crew. They rushed out 
to discover the cause and found the cook 
plunging his knife into the throat of the 
captive. 

Not knowing that other deer fed in the 
pen, and thinking the cook had killed Single 
Hoof, the whole camp quickly became an 
enraged mob. The cook fled to his room. 
When the men discovered that it was not 
Single Hoof, their wrath was little less. 
They knew how the life of Single Hoof had 
been endangered by the trap. Until late 
that night the heavy rafters of the camp 
fairly creaked under the weight of the oaths 
of enraged men, and the count on more 
[ 162 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


than one cribbage board was left un- 
finished where it had stood earlier in the 
evening. 

It was several nights before another deer 
came to the pen. Even Single Hoof lost 
her confidence in her friends. She did not 
follow the men to their work again, nor 
return to the yard until long after dark 
and everything was quiet about the camp. 
When the deer did return, the slightest 
sound would cause them to bound away 
into the woods and keep in hiding the 
remainder of the night. 

We had only one other opportunity to 
watch deer about the pen. One night, 
after everything was quiet, dad and I took 
our stand in the bean shack and dad played 
on a harmonica a sweet, low, melodious tune. 
Finally we saw the head of a young deer 
standing out from the brush in the moon- 
light. It was as motionless as a marble 
head fixed to a stone wall. Its great ears 
drank in the strange sound. The wonder- 
[ 163 ] 


NED BREWS TER' S YEAR 


ing creature seemed to be held in a hypnotic 
spell. For half an hour it never changed 
its position, nor, so far as we could dis- 
cover, moved a muscle. Then it stepped 
farther into the open and stood with its 
graceful head high in the air, as though 
straining every nerve to catch the sounds. 
Dad had never had such a sympathetic 
listener to his playing on his harmonica, 
and I think he felt flattered that there was 
one creature in the world who could enjoy 
it. 

Growing bolder, she came nearer, till she 
stood not more than twenty feet away. 
Not able to entice her closer, dad ceased 
playing. Then she seemed to grow nerv- 
ous. She stamped her foot, challenging 
whatever might be in hiding. As dad 
played, she became quiet once more ; when 
the music ceased, she grew nervous. Once 
he stopped playing too long and, seeming 
to regain her control, she bounded into the 
woods. Dad was not able to entice her 
[ 164 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


from cover again, though he tried far into 
the night. 

A few days later we went into the woods 
with my camera, following on snow-shoes 
an old deserted logging road. Suddenly 
there was a shot from a rifle. A little way 
from where we stood a deer bounded into 
the road. It stopped for a second and then, 
discovering us, it ran away. As I snapped 
the frightened creature with my camera, 
I noticed it hobbling on one front leg. The 
other dangled helplessly by its side. The 
snow was covered with blood. A glance 
at the tracks told us it was Single Hoof. 
Just then old Bill Davies came out of the 
thicket into the road, following on the track 
of the deer. 

“ Mighty cold day,” he said, with as 
much unconcern as though he had been the 
greatest saint in Christendom. 

“Yes, and it will be colder yet if Single 
Hoof dies,” was dad’s chilly reply. 

“Somebody been shootin’ deer?” 

[ 165 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


Bill had left his gun in the thicket. He 
knew he was too closely watched to come 
into the open with it, after firing a shot. 

“Yes, some one has, Bill.” 

Dad gave the old lawless hunter a look 
which he understood, and we parted, going 
in opposite directions. 

It was too late to follow Single Hoof. 
The sun was near the horizon. To have 
followed her then would only have caused 
her to have run farther and increased her 
suffering. 

Early next morning we were on her trail. 
It was an easy trail to follow by the red 
stains in the snow. In places the blood 
had spurted far out beyond her track. 
Big drops had fallen into the path. The 
print of her imperfect hoof could be seen 
between the red stains. Some distance 
beyond, in a little thicket of cedars, was a 
crimson pool where Single Hoof had stopped 
to rest and see if her enemy was pursu- 
ing. 


[ 166 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


From here her tracks led over a small 
ridge pointing toward a great cedar swamp 
where the deer yarded. On the top of the 
ridge we saw two large does standing as 
guards, who were not supposed to run from 
danger. They whistled their challenge, de- 
fying our approach. 

Thinking only of Single Hoof, we pushed 
along until they turned and ran. Then 
we saw little Single Hoof rise from her 
hiding place and hobble stiff and lame over 
the ridge. 

It was useless to try to assist her again. 
She would rather die alone in the cold snow 
than to put her trust in man. To try to 
take food to her only added to her suffer- 
ing. We turned back to leave her with 
her wounds to the cruel winter. 

The next day one of the men, a rough 
Canadian Frenchman, came into the camp 
very sober. He had found Single Hoof on 
the snow, stiff and cold. 

That night none of the men played 
[ 167 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


cribbage. There was a quiet circle about 
the great stove. They started early the 
next morning and placed her under the 
snow. All that day it was like a Sabbath 
about the cabins. 


[ 168 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


CHAPTER TWELVE 

UNDER THE JACK LIGHT 

S PRING came into the woods in a day. 
The snow melted, the ice went out 
of the lakes and streams, and the 
grass and flowers pushed close behind them. 

4 'Beats all how quickly vegetation comes 
after the snow,” dad remarked one day to 
Mose, as we sat in front of the cabin in 
the warm sun. 

We felt much like bears that had been 
hibernating all winter, and were now really 
enjoying the first sunny days. Though from 
what has been said, you can guess there 
had not been much idle time with us. We 
had been busy every minute. Yet it did 
seem like a new world when the sun got 
warm again and the flowers began to bloom. 

"This will bring the deer and the moose 
down to the lake,” said Mose. 44 We’d 
[ 169 ] 


NED BREWS TER'S YEAR 


better be getting out that jack light if we 
want some good pictures.” 

This was the one thing to which I had 
been looking forward all winter. Dad had 
bought a lot of flash light powder and a 
first-class flash pan. When he gave them 
to me, he said, “Now, my boy, it is up to 
you to get the pictures.” 

I did not want to disappoint dad. I was 
mighty anxious for some good pictures, 
too. So all winter I had been studying 
out how I was to use the flash light and 
had made a stand to hold my camera and 
lamp on the front of the canoe. 

“Better carry the canoe down to the 
stream and get ready for business,” said 
dad. 

“Never a better time than now,” I added. 
“Then we might paddle down the brook 
this evening and see what is coming to the 
water.” 

“Just as the rest of you say,” Mose 
agreed. 


[ 170 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


The fact was, Mose was quite as ready 
as we were to get on the lake with the 
jack. He had never used one and had never 
seen a picture taken by means of the flash 
light. He was curious to know how these 
things worked. 

In a few minutes we had the canoe out 
of the brush shack, where it had been stored 
during the winter. Mose put it on his 
back, and we were on our way to the brook, 
the nearest point where it could be taken 
to the lake. 

As we neared the place where it was to 
be launched, we heard a big moose running 
out of the water and breaking the brush 
as he ran into the woods. The banks on 
both sides of the stream were thick with 
tracks of deer and moose. 

“They are coming down in droves,” 
said dad, as he walked along the shores 
looking at the footprints. “We’d better 
come down this evening.” 

Mose and I agreed that this was a good 

[ 171 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


policy. Just before the sun sank behind 
the ridge, our canoe glided down the lazy 
brook which emptied a few yards below 
into the lake. As we swung round a point 
of land, we heard the cautious feet of deer 
wading through the shallow water near the 
shore. The atmosphere was full of the 
perfume of the white water lilies and the 
sweet odor of the marsh grasses. Not a 
breath of wind stirred to carry the fragrance 
away. It was so still the least sound was 
magnified. Nothing other than a finely 
shaped canoe could have moved without 
disturbing the silence, and no being except 
a man skilled in slipping a paddle through 
the water could have approached a deer 
without causing it to bound into the woods. 

Looking carefully over the top of the 
tall marsh grass, we saw two kingly bucks 
and in the distance a doe. They were at 
home in the solitude; the vast loneliness 
was their native element. The caution 
with which they took each step was part of 
[ 172 ] 


/ N THE BIG WOODS 


the quiet hour, and the grace of the beauti- 
ful creatures was in keeping with the perfect 
setting of the sun. 

Nothing gives so fine a touch to nature 
as a deer at the edge of a lake when the 
sun is just sinking behind the hills. A 
moose is interesting, but he is too heavy 
and clumsy to fit the delicacy of the hour. 
He belongs to the big forest and the rough 
mountain side. The smaller animals do 
not belong to the open landscape, but are 
rather made to sneak, concealed, through 
the thick brush. But an evening hour, 
when the western sky is all aglow with 
many colors, peace in the heavens, and calm 
upon the lake, is made perfect by a deer 
feeding on the grass at the edge of the water. 

We pushed noiselessly back into the 
brook to let the unsuspecting creatures 
enjoy their evening meal. We had made 
only a few strokes of the paddle when we 
caught the “ dreary whisper” of the cedar 
wax wings. All day our ears had been 
[ 173 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


pained by the rattle of the kingfisher, the 
most unnatural sound of the forest. Over 
us, from far up in the sky, had come the 
shrill cry of the fish hawk. Once or twice 
we had caught the kreet , kreet of the par- 
tridge, a call that belongs to thick growth 
and unfrequented woods. But in the clos- 
ing hours of the day, what could be more 
welcome than a flock of cedar waxwings ? 
They are surpassed by no bird in gentle- 
ness. Their sweet, low-toned voices seemed 
scarcely to break the silence. Even their 
color, grayish brown on the back, shading 
to yellow underneath, dissolved into the mel- 
low shades of the evening hour, while the 
velvety-black lines of their heads harmo- 
nized with the dark lines along the edge of the 
forest. We let the canoe drift to watch 
the happy company, where no one was 
jealous of the other and no quarrelsome 
note was uttered. 

The next evening we paddled down 
another brook to a point where its waters 
[ 174 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


widened and the lilies grew in abundance. 
There we learned that animals are as sus- 
picious of one another as of men. Three 
cow moose with their calves were feeding 
upon the shore when a cracking of a twig 
in the forest caused all of them to hurry 
away to cover. Then for half an hour 
everything was still. Finally a deer that 
had broken the twig crept cautiously out of 
the brush and walked to the edge of the 
water to drink. A little later a moose 
came out of one of the runways and stood 
for several minutes looking questioningly at 
the deer. The old cow seemed not able 
to determine whether the deer meant danger 
or safety. Her big ears were turned to 
catch the least sound, while her nose sniffed 
to gather the scent. When she was satisfied 
no danger was near, she fed by the side of 
the deer as though they had always been 
friends. Other moose came from the run- 
ways, and each repeated the same process 
before they ventured upon the shore. 

[ 175 ] 


NED BREWS T E R y S YEAR 


We watched unusually long over this 
interesting scene until the moose had gone, 
one by one, back into the woods, leaving 
the deer still upon the shore. We wondered 
if this keen creature would be able to dis- 
tinguish us from a moose in the shadows of 
the evening. We stepped upon the bank 
and walked with easy, cautious steps in 
her direction. Occasionally she would lift 
her head and look at us as she had at the 
moose, but seemed to be no more timid 
of us than of them. Within a hundred 
feet of her we stopped and waited for 
several minutes to watch her feed. Then 
we began to move closer. We walked 
slowly, silently, and with even motion. 
We were within fifty feet before she began 
to show the least sign of nervousness. 
Still she lowered her head to take another 
mouthful. Then we moved a little closer. 
She took a few steps toward the brush. 
When we were within thirty feet, her white 
tail was beginning to twitch and her front 
[ 176 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


foot pawed the ground. How much closer 
could we approach ? We were only twenty- 
five feet away. But that was enough. 
The graceful creature was not quite certain 
whether we were friends or foes, moose or 
men. She would not take any chances, 
and bounded away into the woods. 

As the darkness gathered and the clouds 
blew overhead, threatening to make the 
night fearfully dark, and leaving for the 
eye only the hills outlined against the sky, 
we lighted the lamp on the front of our 
canoe to see the dead-water brook by white 
light. 

In the darkness the wild creatures seemed 
to lose some of their fear. They walked 
with less cautious step, and the noises 
increased. 

Far up the brook a beaver was either 
enjoying the solitude or was being dis- 
turbed by some enemy. His sinewy tail 
came down upon the water, making reports 
that echoed against the mountains. A great 
[ 177 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


blue heron was frightened by something. 
He rent the night air by his squawks, 
darted over our heads, and rested upon a 
little tongue of sand in the brook a short 
distance above us. 

We waited until everything was quiet and 
he had time to forget his fright. Then we 
stole quietly along until he was clearly 
outlined in the light of our jack. In the 
artificial light everything lost its propor- 
tions. He seemed large as a marble stork 
on an old country estate. His huge body 
appeared to rest unsupported in the air, 
his one tiny leg on which he stood being too 
small to be seen in the night. His long 
neck was extended full length. He stood 
like a silent guard, keeping watch over the 
dwellers of the brook. 

In my den now hangs a picture of a fine 
deer I secured that night. I have named 
her “ Innocence Abroad.” The little light 
from the front of our canoe revealed her 
huge green eyes, great balls of phosphorus 
[ 178 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


shining in the darkness. It was a weird 
scene. The light had turned everything 
into a dull gray, and the only signs of life 
were these two balls of fire. As the canoe 
glided along, there gradually came into 
view the outlines of a bewildered deer. 
Her head was high in the air. One front 
foot was raised, as though this attitude 
helped her in some way to listen more 
intensely. Her ears were thrown forward 
to catch the slightest noise. No artist ever 
did or can picture such grace and beauty as 
stood before us. It would have taken a 
heart of stone to have shot her. Her 
innocence of all danger would have spiked 
the deadliest gun. She stamped, pawed 
the water, whistled and snorted in her 
bewilderment. There was not a graceful 
pose which she did not assume while we 
watched her. Then a click of the camera, 
a flash of the light, and she was ohrs. I 
hope no hunter has killed her, for she is one 
of my best friends. 

[ 179 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


A little farther down the winding brook 
two does waited for us. As our canoe 
swung round a sharp point and our light 
shot over the birch and spruce of the 
forest, the bewildered creatures would have 
given evidence for every theory of the 
effect of the jack light upon deer. One 
gazed intently upon the woods beyond us. 
She seemed to have no idea of any boat, 
light, or danger upon the water. Her 
challenge was all toward the forest, as 
though she expected some strange god of 
the fires to leap out of the sheets of light 
and devour her. Her companion took no 
notice of the intense light upon the shore 
or the trembling shadows. Her whole atten- 
tion was toward the blinding rays which 
shot from the bow of the canoe. The 
nervous attitude of her body told that she 
feared danger to be lurking behind that 
strange device. Even after the flash was 
fired the deer were not able to determine 
where the danger really lay. The poor be- 
[ 180 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


wildered creatures looked all about them, 
first at the lake and then at the forest, not 
daring to run in either direction for fear 
of an attack. We rested back in our canoe 
and watched them. Finally they slipped 
just to the edge of the forest, not daring to 
go farther. It was half an hour before 
they bounded into the woods, making the 
hills echo with their challenge. 

The next night we put out the light and 
made the canoe fast under the bank to 
listen to the sounds which made the chorus 
of the night. 

“Did you ever hear beavers talk?” 
whispered Mose. 

I had not yet begun to listen, and his 
question called my attention to a large 
family of beavers not more than two hun- 
dred feet from our hiding place. They were 
chattering in the most animated fashion. 
A baby of the family was crying as I had 
heard human babies cry. 

“What are they talking about ?” I asked. 

[ 181 ] 


NED BREWSTER' S YEAR 


“ Just enjoying the cool night,” said Mose. 
“Chattering as people do on the piazza in 
the evening after the hot day.” 

I thought they must be talking about 
something very serious. They were so 
earnest I felt they might be discussing the 
great works of their ancestors, possibly the 
creation of the world. 

One great beaver was foraging in the 
lake. At regular intervals his tail beat the 
water with a blow that made the hills echo. 
So far as we could discover there was no 
reason for his performance. He just seemed 
to enjoy hearing the splash and the echo, 
as boys shout at night on the lake to hear 
their echo come back. 

From a little cove not far from where we 
waited came distinctly the plop, plop , plop 
of a deer, nibbling lily pads which grew in 
great abundance. 

The whole region was suddenly startled 
by the squawk of a blue heron which had 
been frightened out of the marsh by some 
[ 182 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


sly hunter. Far away, on the side of a 
mountain, was a solitary wail. Neither 
Mose nor dad could tell what it was, but it 
was such a lonely cry that we were all glad 
when it ceased. 

Everything was quiet for a moment. 
We listened for the next strange sound that 
would break out of the stillness. 

“Big moose,” whispered Mose. 

From the head of the lake came a sound 
like the falling of a great log into the water. 
We knew it to be the plunge of a moose. 

We were far back in the wilderness where 
these giants knew no fear. They had not 
learned to step gently into the lake that 
they might not awaken the arch-enemy 
with his deadly gun. They had no one 
here to dispute their powers, and they 
walked with the courage and freedom of 
kings over their domains. 

Scarcely had I opened my lantern, as 
the canoe glided noiselessly into the narrow 
water at the head of the lake, when two 
[ 183 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


great balls of glowing phosphorus burned 
in the light of our jack, not more than a 
hundred yards away. Not a sign of any 
animal could be seen, only two ghostly, 
bodiless eyes peering out of the darkness. 
Not even a shadowy outline appeared to 
suggest that these eyes belonged to a living 
creature. 

Everything had been deathly still as we 
made our approach. Not even the dip of 
a paddle had broken the hush. Mose had 
skillfully moved it through the water and 
made the approach without a sound. The 
crack of a dry twig on the shore was the 
only noise to indicate the presence of a 
living thing. 

“Cow moose and calf,” said Mose, under 
his breath, as he heard the crack and caught 
sight of the two great eyes before us. 

The words were scarcely spoken when 
the eyes began to move. The stillness of the 
night was broken by the splashing of the 
water made by the curious mother, who had 
[ 184 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


suddenly decided to discover the meaning 
of the strange light. The water was 
shallow; the bottom of the lake was solid 
gravel, so that her walk was unimpeded. 
She came forward, splashing like a horse 
fording a stream. 

“ She’s got red in her eyes,” Mose sug- 
gested. “ Remember she’s got a calf in the 
brush.” 

I was so busy taking a last look at my 
flash light to be sure everything was in 
perfect condition that the words of Mose 
made scarcely any impression on me. My 
only thought was to get a good picture of 
the huge beast as she approached within 
twenty or thirty feet of our canoe. 

As she came nearer, I noticed an unusual 
attitude in the carriage of her head. The 
natural walk of the moose is with the head 
and neck extended, making a straight line 
with the back. But her head was high 
in the air, and her whole body swung in a 
defiant mood. 


[ 185 ] 


NED BREWST ER’ S YEAR 


In my anxiety to secure a fine photograph, 
I did not stop to interpret the meaning of 
these motions. With every nerve tense 
and ready for action, I waited until her 
whole body was in plain view, her head not 
more than fifteen feet from my camera. 

Flash through the dark night went my 
light ! For a brief second the outline of the 
shore was clear. Every tree stood out 
distinctly. The darkness had scarcely re- 
turned when I felt the warm breath of a 
moose as her nose appeared over the bow 
of our canoe. She had made one fierce 
lunge and was upon us. Mose knew the 
danger and shouted for all to jump. To- 
gether we sprang into the water. We sank 
to our waists, but in the plunge I grasped 
the camera and held it high. The picture 
was safe. 

But what would be left of our canoe? 
There came a splintering crash which told 
that a front foot of the beast had gone 
through the thin ribs and the canvas. 

[ 186 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Sad work was rapidly being made of our 
only means of navigation. Crash, crash, 
came the horrifying sounds, which we knew 
meant weary days of work in building 
another canoe. In sheer desperation we 
raised our voices in yells that made the moun- 
tains ring. Whether the voices brought to 
the moose memories of packs of wolves upon 
the barrens which had hunted the strongest 
bulls and brought them low, or whether she 
finally discovered that back of that strange 
light men were hiding to do her harm, she 
released her foot, which she had caught in 
the canoe, and ran in true moose fashion 
up the stream. 

Fearing the worst, but glad that we still 
possessed the film free from damage, we 
waded to our canoe, and found to our delight 
that the wreckage was not so bad as we 
had feared. The canoe had turned on 
its side as we jumped just in time to catch 
the hoof of the creature. It had penetrated 
high in the bow, making a hole the size 
[ 187 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


of a man’s head. Yet by sitting well 
back in the stern we were able to float 
without filling the craft with water. 

The night was dark as a dungeon. The 
narrow strip of water was full of rocks and 
fallen trees. It was impossible to find our 
way out of the tangle without a light. A 
little examination showed our jack to be 
uninjured, and soon a stream of light shot 
again into the darkness to guide us to camp. 

We had just turned the bow of the canoe 
toward home when there was again a plunge 
through the water. We saw the moose re- 
turning to renew the attack. Mose began 
to beat desperately upon the water with the 
paddle. Unfortunately, the first blow, in- 
stead of coming down upon the water, struck 
with all the force of the strong arm of 
Mose across a log. The paddle broke in 
pieces, and we were left to the mercy of the 
brute, not having another paddle with us. 

Instinctively I put out the light. Again 
we raised our voices in desperate shouts. 

[ 188 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


When we were just ready to jump once more 
into the stream and put the canoe between 
us and the moose, she stopped, hesitated a 
minute, then turned and ran away. 

She had met a new enemy, one whose 
great eye, when open, was blinding with its 
light, and left everything in oppressive dark- 
ness when it closed. While there was no 
animal in all the region with which this 
moose feared to match her powers, here was 
something so strange that nature told her 
caution was the best measure. We could 
hear the brush crack as she ran back into 
the woods, taking the bewildered calf with 
her. 

It was almost break of dawn before we left 
the hot, cheerful logs blazing on our camp 
fire, the first real camp fire we had built be- 
fore our cabin, and wrapped ourselves in our 
blankets for a little sleep. We had for- 
gotten the passing of the hours as we dried 
our clothes about the fire, speculated on 
what was in the mind of the mother moose, 
[ 189 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


and what might have happened to us had 
her curiosity been a little keener. 

The next night our canoe, patched and 
mended, again pointed in the direction of the 
narrow water. We hoped to find the calf 
which had been so carefully hidden from us 
the night before. None of us were anxious 
for another encounter with the mother ; we 
only wanted the picture of her baby, to make 
the family group complete. 

We were just turning a point of land 
leading to the narrow water when we heard 
a sound compounded of a bleat and a bark. 

“ Moose,” said Mose. 

As we rounded the point there was such a 
cracking of brush, we were fearful that 
the old mother had come once more to in- 
vestigate the strange light. We remained 
well out in the stream where there was the 
possibility of escaping if there was any 
charge, and played the light up and down 
the shore to discover what might be in 
waiting. 


[ 190 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


“The calf,” I whispered. 

Its head appeared between two alder 
bushes, and its great innocent eyes glowed in 
the light. With cautious steps it waded 
into the stream and stood gazing at us. 
It did not seem to know the meaning of fear. 
Like our own babies, it was a great question 
mark. Wonder was written in its eyes and 
its very attitude. Its mother had never told 
it anything about this queer creature with 
such a big eye, so bright it blinded one to 
look at it. When the flash filled the sky 
with light, the wonder of the little baby was 
only increased. What kind of an animal 
could it be that not only had such a bright 
eye, but could make lightning? It stood 
with its stilt-like legs spread out, as though 
they were just a bit too long to manage 
comfortably, its mane bristling, staring 
into our jack, wondering that there could be 
such a strange thing in this new world. 

The confused creature showed no desire 
to run away. It had not yet learned the 
[ 191 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


horrible sense of fear that never leaves the 
mature animals of the wilds. That was 
one of the disagreeable things it was to learn 
later. Its whole attitude said: “I do not 
know what you are, but all things must be 
kind.” 

We pushed the bow of the canoe by the 
side of the questioning creature until we 
could easily have touched it with our hands. 
As our light passed by it and it could see 
us plainly as we sat in the canoe, the mystery 
grew deeper, and its great questioning eyes 
grew larger. 

A whiff of our scent must have reached its 
nostrils, for its mane bristled a little more, 
as though it tried to say: “There is that 
horrible man odor mother taught me to 
hate.” But we talked to it so kindly it 
seemed to feel we were friends, not enemies. 
Its mane fell back and every sign of sus- 
picion disappeared. Only past experience 
restrained me from stretching my hand to 
stroke the neck of the creature. 

[ 192 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Just as our friendship was ripening into 
familiarity and the little calf was half in- 
clined to step into our canoe, or at least 
to follow the new friends home, there was 
a cracking in the brush. 

“Old cow/’ said Mose, pointing to a 
clump of balsams. “ One hole in this canoe 
is enough,” and with these words he gave 
the canoe a vigorous shove, which put it well 
out into the stream. 

I had remained silent, but was profoundly 
grateful for his prompt action, as I saw the 
eyes of the old brute peer out of the dark- 
ness with the same look they had the pre- 
vious night. 

As we paddled away, it was with difficulty 
that the old mother could convince her 
baby that we were not good friends, but 
by some method, known only in the school 
of the moose, she finally awakened the 
calf’s sense of fear, and we saw them bound 
away into the woods. 


[ 193 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

THE COW MOOSE AND THEIR CALVES 

I F dad ever needed any equilibrium, as 
the doctor expressed himself, he had 
certainly secured it. Every few days, 
especially when there was such a storm 
we could not go into the woods, he would 
get a little blue, thinking of mother, I 
suppose. But that was natural. I used 
to sneak off occasionally into the woods 
myself and feel lonesome, especially when 
the wind was howling. But ever since 
the day dad put on his old clothes and 
started for the big forests and over the trails, 
he had been like himself. When the spring 
came, he seemed so well that I left him more 
and went away alone. I could get better 
pictures when I was by myself. Sometimes 
Mose went with me, and sometimes dad, but 
[ 194 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


more often I crept down to the lake by 
myself and watched. 

One day I sat hidden in the brush by the 
side of the lake, when a little calf trotted 
from its hiding place to a point of land 
which extended some distance into the 
water. The little brown bundle of inno- 
cence was hungry, and it called for its mother. 
Though she was far out in the lake, gather- 
ing her morning meal of tender lily pads, 
she quickly came to the call, grunting her 
affectionate assurance as she made her way 
through the mud and roots. Her voice was 
not musical. Her notes had no suggestion 
of a sweet lullaby. The moose voice is 
possibly the least attractive to the human 
ear of all the mother notes of our American 
animals. It is in gruff contrast to the sweet 
songs of the birds, trilled above their nests. 
But it serves the purpose of the sweetest 
child songs of our mothers. It keeps the 
little impatient calf quiet until she can 
reach the shore with her refreshing meal. 

[ 195 ] 


NED B R EW S T E R’ S YEAR 


After the little fellow’s hunger had been 
satisfied, mother and calf started for the 
woods. Fortunately for me, waiting for a 
picture, they came along the very moose 
path where I sat. When they were within 
a dozen feet, I rose and snapped the camera. 

But for the devoted pair there was just one 
way of escape. A strange creature was in 
the only path leading to the woods. On 
either side was water. The lake offered the 
only way from danger, and that a perilous 
one. It was a lake of mud. Three or four 
inches of water covered many feet of soft 
ooze, and through it swimming was slow 
and difficult. Yet without a second of hesi- 
tation the old cow and her calf plunged for 
the long swim. 

A few feet from the shore both turned to 
see if the enemy was pursuing. The little 
calf climbed on to a tuft of lily roots and 
gazed out of his great eyes on the strange 
creature upon the shore. One would have 
gladly called him back, petted his brown 
[ 196 ] 



She converted her Long Body into a Ferryboat. Page 197 




IN THE BIG WOODS 


stocky neck, and made friends. He, too, 
looked half trustingly, as though he could not 
quite understand the commotion. The same 
hesitation causes many of them to fall every 
year before the guns of lawless hunters, and 
multitudes of them to become victims of 
the bear and the vicious lynx. 

But the old mother had learned long 
since not to put her trust in man. She 
only hesitated to see if I would turn back 
rather than force her to swim the dreadful 
lake. Once satisfied that the shore meant 
danger, she plunged out for the hard swim, 
the little calf following close at her heels. 

But the mud was too heavy. The little 
creature could make no headway. Would 
the mother leave him behind ? For her own 
safety would she desert her child ? She 
converted her long body into a veritable 
ferry boat. For a moment she stopped 
swimming, just long enough for the calf 
to overtake her. The little panting, breath- 
less body climbed on to her back, clasped 
[ 197 ] 


NED B REW S T E R’ S YEAR 


his front legs tightly in front of the mother’s 
big hip bones, then together they started 
across the lake. 

It was a long, hard swim. The calf 
helped some with his tiny hind legs, but 
the mother carried the weight and did the 
hard work. She breathed until I feared her 
heart would break. She could be heard 
across the lake as she panted. The water 
flew before her nostrils, and the mud was 
churned as by a river side-wheeler. Her 
devotion was magnificent, spending the last 
ounce of her energy to save her calf. 

But it was fun that was too costly. Many 
moose have been lost in that lake, driven 
too hard by pleasure seekers. Just in 
front of me lay a calf which had been 
drowned in a frantic effort to reach the 
shore. I stepped back into the brush, 
lest there should be another tragedy. 

When the cow turned her head again she 
could not see me. She waited a minute 
and then scanned the entire shore behind 
[ 198 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


her. No sign of the danger remained. For 
an hour or more she waited, trying to catch 
some scent on the wind, turning her great 
ears to gather the least sound. Finally, 
satisfied that the enemy had fled, she 
turned, with the calf still on her back, to the 
nearest point of land, where they climbed 
on the shore and scampered away into the 
woods. 

I have never seen a cow that would 
fight for her calf after it was a few weeks 
old, so long as there was any possibility 
of escape. But there lingers a vivid memory 
of the fighting instincts of a cow for a 
new-born calf. We were making our way 
through a tangled growth, with only here 
and there a moose path running through 
the jungle. On a little path, carpeted with 
soft green moss, was an old cow with her 
baby. The little calf was yet so weak that it 
was not able to raise its head nor stand on 
its feet to take its first meal. But it had a 
mighty defender. The old cow grunted a 
[ 199 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


challenge that made the forest ring. Her 
eyes were red with rage ; her huge lip 
flopped in defiant mood, and her mane 
bristled. Her whole attitude said : “ Come 
no farther.” 

But we ignored her defiance, thinking she 
would run as we came nearer. To our 
surprise she moved not a step on our ad- 
vance, but she became a hurricane of rage. 
The brush cracked and the moss flew under 
her great hoofs. We each looked for a 
tree to climb, and we were none too early in 
finding protection. We had only made our 
escape when she stood beneath us, the very 
hairs of her body speaking destruction. 

The calves are restless little creatures. 
The mother always tries to hide them in 
some thick brush before she goes into the 
lake to feed. Sometimes they will nestle 
down in high grass or under a thick growth 
of alders and patiently wait until the old 
mother returns. I have several times walked 
so close that I could have reached forth my 
[ 200 ] 


mM 



They climbed on the Shore and scampered away into the Woods. Page 199 






IN THE BIG WOODS 


hand and touched them before they would 
move. They had crouched down like a 
rabbit, thinking they were securely hidden. 

More often they are too impatient to 
remain in cover. They insist on following 
the cow into the lake. When she is a few 
yards from the shore, the little fellows 
will tumble into the water and paddle out 
to her side. Then they climb upon a tuft 
of lily pads and roots, where they look like 
tiny mules, fighting the flies with their big 
ears and watching the mothers feed. 

One day I saw an unusually restless little 
fellow who persisted in moving about on an 
unstable tuft of lily roots. Each time he 
moved he fell into the water, making a loud 
splash which could be heard across the lake. 
The mother became uneasy ; she knew not 
what keen eye the noise might attract. 
When she could endure it no longer, she took 
the little rascal down and marched him 
ashore, where she gave him a vigorous 
poking with her nose. 

[ 201 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


There seems to be some degree of coopera- 
tion between the cows in the care of their 
calves. One day I saw three large cows 
come to the lake to feed. In vain they 
tried to push the little calves into the 
brush. Again and again they walked back 
with them to the edge of the thicket, but 
each time the calves persisted in following 
the mothers into the lake. There seemed 
to be no choice except to let them follow. 
Finally one of the large cows started away, 
all the calves going after her, while the 
two other cows plunged into the water to 
feed. Whether this was a genuine spirit of 
cooperation, or whether the calves simply 
tagged along, I am not clear. But I have 
seen the thing occur so often, one cow going 
away with three or four calves, that I am 
tempted to think it is a real case of one 
mother setting up a day nursery, while the 
other mothers have a chance to rest. 

Some degree of care is certainly exercised 
by cows over calves which do not belong 
[ 202 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


to them. I have seen this scores of times. 
One day I snapped a picture of a cow and 
a calf swimming a lake. In some way the 
calf became terribly frightened. Instead 
of running toward the shore and going into 
the woods with the mother, it turned and 
started across the most perilous part of a 
muddy lake. Progress was difficult for 
the strongest bulls. At times it seemed 
the little calf did not move, though work- 
ing with all its might. It continued a 
beseeching whine, as though asking for 
aid. We were planning some way to take it 
into our boat to save its life, when a cow 
appeared on the shore nearest to it. She 
began to answer the calls so eagerly that 
we thought she must be the mother. But 
careful examination of her marks, color, 
and size made us conclude she was not. 
Yet no mother could have been more con- 
cerned with the cries or answered them 
more faithfully. 

She plunged into the water and started 
[ 203 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


for the struggling calf. When she reached 
it, she smelled it as affectionately as though 
it had been her own, trying to quiet its 
fears. Then she turned toward land, swim- 
ming ahead of the calf, breaking a channel 
through the heavy mud along which it 
followed. When they reached land, she 
drove the calf away to find its own mother. 

The same afternoon we discovered two 
calves playing on the opposite shore. The 
mother started across the lake, calling for 
her calf to follow. She would swim a short 
distance, then return, chase her calf into 
deep water and start again, hoping the calf 
would continue with her. But every time 
the calf would return and play with the mate 
left behind. 

Finally, after much calling on the part of 
the mother, and several vigorous pokings 
with her nose, she succeeded in her purpose 
with the stubborn youngster. But when 
she was half across the lake, her calf swim- 
ming close behind, she found herself in 
[ 204 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


new difficulties. The second calf had also 
followed. We had supposed both calves 
belonged to her, but this was not true. 
Some little fellow that had been securely 
hidden by its mother had slipped away from 
the hiding place and was now trying to 
follow its playmate across the lake. 

The old cow turned upon it with a ven- 
geance. She had a right to be angry after the 
trouble with her own calf. Now to be 
compelled to turn and drive another calf 
ashore was trying indeed. 

We wondered why she did not let it 
follow. Had it crossed the lake, it would 
have been far from its mother. She might 
never have found it again. But why should 
this old cow care if another’s calf starved ? 
Does she have any sense of obligation for 
others ? These are hard questions, too deep 
for us to answer. The fact is, she turned 
and drove the calf back to its starting point, 
not an easy task. It did not want to go. 
She would strike at it as though she would 
[ 205 ] 


NED BREWS T E R* S YEAR 


break it to pieces, yet always just missed it. 
Time after time she struck, each blow fright- 
ening the calf and causing it to hasten its 
speed. When they reached the shore, she ran 
at it, striking and poking as though she 
would not leave a whole bone in its body. 
Yet she never hit it. She chased the little 
thing far into the woods, where it would not 
return, but could find its mother. 

When she came back, her calf was on the 
shore again. All her efforts toward reach- 
ing the other side of the lake had been in 
vain, but she would sacrifice her toil rather 
than lose the calf of another cow. 

I said it was the very innocence of these 
calves which enabled the bear and the 
lynx to kill many every year. One warm 
day in July, I waited by the side of a lake 
for something to appear. As I sat quietly 
in a blind, just at the edge of the forest, 
I saw two small calves lying under the 
shadow of the spruce, where their mother 
had left them. It was a cool place for 
[ 206 ] 
































/ 










































































IN THE BIG WOODS 


them to rest, but so dark it was impossible 
to secure a picture. 

As the morning passed I had forgotten 
about the calves. I was waiting for a 
monarch bull who sometimes visited the 
lake. Suddenly there was a terrible crash- 
ing in the brush. The two calves were 
racing through the mud and undergrowth 
for their lives. They popped out of the 
thicket a few yards above me and tore down 
the shore of the lake at a terrific speed. 
There was no time to change the tension of 
my camera. I knew a picture was impossible 
at the speed they were going, and so near 
to me. I rose quickly and stood in front 
of them. They were so frightened they 
really trembled. Just then I caught sight 
of a savage Canadian lynx at the edge of the 
brush. I had saved the little calves from 
death. 

They stood for a minute, wondering 
whether it were better to return to the 
lynx or trust the strange creature in front of 
[207 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


them. They bounded into the lake, and 
stood looking as two innocent children 
before a strange object. Then they trotted 
away into the woods, where possibly the next 
day brought a real tragedy. 


[ 208 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


THE BEAVER 


D AD and Mose had argued all winter 
about the habits of the beaver. 
Large colonies of these fur bearers 
were to be found near our camp. The 
snow -covered mounds along the brooks 
and around the ponds told us that years of 
protection had enabled them to increase in 
great numbers. Wherever there was a 
brook or small body of water, several 
of their houses might be found, all in good 
repair and each surrounded by a large 
supply of food. 

“They are the only animals that can 
defy the law of gravitation,” said Mose, 
as we sat about the stove one winter eve- 
ning, arguing about their habits. “They 
can sink a small piece of wood to the bottom 
[ 209 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


of the pond and make it stay there without 
any apparent means.” 

“Bosh !” exclaimed dad. 

“I know what I am talking about,” 
replied Mose, growing excited in his argu- 
ment. “I have touched many of their 
sticks on the bottom of their ponds and 
when you just touch them, they’ll pop 
up like a cork. I tell you there is nothing 
to hold them down.” 

“Guess you think the moon is made of 
green cheese, don’t you, Mose?” 

“You can talk about your science and 
all that sort of stuff,” continued Mose, “but 
one fact is worth all your theory. I know 
whenever a beaver puts a piece of popple 
on the bottom, it stays right there. Don’t 
know whether they suck the air out of it or 
not. Some people say they do. However 
you account for it, the fact is, the wood 
stays where they put it.” 

“ If they created the world, as the Indians 
say they did, I do not see why they couldn’t 
[ 210 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


make wood stay on the bottom of a pond,” 
I dared to suggest. v 

“Both of you fellows will go daft on 
beavers yet,” exclaimed dad, sitting back 
in his chair, half disgusted at both of us. 

After he had taken a few puffs from his 
pipe, he sat up again and said in a con- 
descending spirit : 

“I suppose you believe all this other 
nonsense about beavers, don’t you ? Sup- 
pose you think they can carry mud on their 
tails, make trees fall in any direction, and 
all the other foolishness ?” 

“You have been reading some of those 
science books written by fellows who have 
never been in the woods longer than a 
month in their lives,” replied Mose. “ I 
have seen hundreds of trees cut by beavers, 
and it is seldom they make a mistake. 
A tree usually falls the way they want it to.” 

“That is only because the trees grow 
on the side of the bank and naturally lean 
the way they want them to fall,” said dad. 

[ 211 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


“Nonsense,” replied Mose. “It is be- 
cause they select the ones that will fall 
as they desire.” 

“Does a beaver ever let himself be used 
for a sled ? ” I asked. “ I have read that one 
would lie on his back, let others pile wood 
and mud on him, then drag him with the load 
to the pond. They say that is why some 
old beavers have so little fur on their backs.” 

Dad laughed heartily, as though we were 
losing our heads. 

“ Don’t believe that,” said Mose. “ There 
may be a lot of foolish talk about the in- 
telligence of beavers, but I tell you they are 
the most intelligent animals in the woods.” 

“They are more stupid than muskrats,” 
said dad. 

That was too much for the patience of 
Mose. He walked over to the water buckets 
to take a drink to cool his spirit. 

I must confess that my sympathies were 
largely with Mose. I had read a book which 
said that beavers had created the world, 
[ 212 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


that originally they were very large animals, 
larger than elephants, that they moved 
about on the face of the deep and gradually 
carried mud from the bottom of the ocean, 
placing it in piles until mountains appeared, 
and that they continued their work until 
continents came into existence and hills 
and valleys divided the ocean. 

The book said these beavers were en- 
dowed with the power of speech and talked 
freely of their mighty creations until the 
Great Spirit became jealous, and slew one. 
Then occurred a miracle no less wonderful 
than their creation of the world. The 
spirit of the slain beaver came forth as a 
man. Thus was born the human race. 

Unfortunately, the author wrote, there 
were none of these great beavers remaining. 
Almost as late as the time of our Revolution- 
ary War a curious scientist, hearing of these 
mammoth animals, came all the way from 
England to search the wilds of Canada, to 
discover, if possible, one of these creatures. 
[ 213 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


He was too late. Manitou, the Great 
Spirit, year after year, had smoothed them 
with a tender affection, until under the 
stroke of his great hand, they had gradually 
grown smaller. When this scientist arrived 
they had already assumed their present size. 

With these ideas of beavers in my mind, 
I found myself taking sides with Mose. 
Yet I knew dad’s knowledge of nature was 
always accurate, and I was afraid he was 
right this time. 

I went to the brook where the beavers had 
built a dam and had made a large pond. 
There were two big houses in the pond and 
the beavers were busily at work. I made a 
blind at one side of the brook and spent 
days behind it watching their habits. They 
were so seldom disturbed that they worked 
until about ten o’clock in the morning 
and began by three in the afternoon. I 
even watched three nights to see what they 
would do. 

It was a busy colony. Every animal had 
[ 214 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


a task, and though I could not discover any 
foreman, they apparently worked with as 
much system as men in the best organized 
factory. I doubt not there was some one 
who supervised the workers. Some were 
busy on the dam, some were cutting wood 
and others were carrying it to the pond. 
One old beaver seemed to work chiefly about 
the house. 

I was especially interested in watching 
them cut their wood. One day as I sat 
in the blind a big fellow walked within 
ten feet of me. Fortunately, the wind 
took my scent away from him. He first 
looked into the top of the tree to see if it 
was entangled with other branches. Then 
he sat down, put one front foot against 
the tree, spread his two hind legs, using 
his tail apparently as a prop, then began 
chewing at the bark. The tree was five 
inches through and he went to work as 
though he would devour the whole thing. 
If a chip clung, he would pull it away by a 
[ 215 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


slight turn of his head. He did most of 
his cutting on one side, and in just an hour 
and a quarter the tree fell into the pond. 

In a short time several beavers were at 
work on the limbs of the felled tree. They 
cut every branch from the trunk and carried 
them to their woodpile. One day I saw 
several beavers take an entire tree four 
inches in diameter to the storehouse. On 
another day they cut a tree eight inches 
in diameter, trimmed off the boughs and 
tried to take the entire trunk to the dam. 
Four beavers pulled and tugged, using teeth, 
breasts, and hips in the process. It was 
too large a task, and they gave it up. Then 
one beaver started to cut the tree in four 
pieces, while the others began to cut down 
new trees. 

My observations convinced me that dad 
was right in his conclusions. I noticed the 
wood floated when a beaver first took it 
to the pond, and only sank as it became 
water-soaked or was held down by other 
[ 216 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


wood piled on top of it. The beavers 
made no effort to put it to the bottom 
of the pond. ' They let nature do that for 
them. They never carried any mud on 
their tails. Indeed, apart from swimming, 
I was not certain of the use they made 
of their tails. They did not use them 
merely to slap the water to warn their 
fellow-workers of danger, for often they 
made the hills echo beating the water while 
they were at play. As for the argument 
of Mose that they always made the trees 
fall just the right way, there was much 
evidence to show that this was not true. 
Some trees became entangled with others 
and did not fall, while others fell in the 
wrong direction, increasing their labors. 

Still my sympathies were with Mose. 
While dad was right about some things 
the more I studied the beaver colony, 
the more I came to believe there might 
be some truth in the Indian legend. 

As I sat day after day by this pond I 
[ 217 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


discovered that the beavers were lovers of 
peace, that they hated war. In this respect 
they were in marked contrast to other 
creatures that crept or flew about their 
pond. The red squirrels scolded and 
quarreled, revealing their bad dispositions, 
until one could easily believe the Indian 
legend that once this squirrel was a large 
animal, but he had such a cruel temper and 
was so destructive of his neighbors that the 
great Manitou was compelled to reduce 
him to his present size. The arch-backed, 
greasy otter slipped through the water, 
making less disturbance on the surface than 
would be made by a fish swimming near 
the top, and dove into the pond only to 
emerge with a beautiful spotted trout in 
his mouth which he ate with a savage 
delight. The mink came on their hunts 
for fish, frogs, or any living creature they 
could murder. The rattle-throated king- 
fisher shouted his klrrrrrr ! klrrrrrr ! from 
his watch-tower before he plunged into 
[ 218 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


the pool for a minnow, and returned to 
devour the captive with one gluttonous 
gulp. But the beaver lived in friendly 
relationship with all his neighbors. He 
had no thought of disturbing the tiniest 
fish that waited before his door. He asked 
only to be left alone. The only sign of 
revenge I ever saw him show was with an 
otter, and this only because the otter 
was a tantalizing beast slipping like an 
eel through the pond, and eating its food 
in the very door of the beaver’s house. 

It is true the beaver would not have a 
muskrat about his pond, as this mischievous 
creature would burrow in his dam and 
weaken it so the spring freshets would 
quickly wash it away. But these traits 
are only a part of the highest virtue. The 
home is always sacred, and gods will fight 
when it is invaded by danger. If left 
to himself, the beaver would live in peace 
with all things. 

One crisp morning I watched five little 
[ 219 ] 


AT ED B R EW S T E R* S YEAR 


kittens playing with their mother on the 
dome of their great house. They rolled 
and tumbled like children on the beach. 
The mother was about to give them their 
first lesson in swimming and was soon to 
lead them to the shore to give them their 
first lesson in cutting wood. Their very 
playfulness seemed to say that everything 
was good which their ancestors had made 
and they would like to live in good will 
with all creation. 

Furthermore, I was impressed by the fact 
that these beavers had never been able to 
change many of the habits which belong 
to the children of Paradise. Before any 
animals were hunted, the only food was 
vegetable. The beavers have never, even 
to this late time, been able to eat anything 
except a vegetable diet. Their favorite 
food is the bark of poplar. They are 
very fond of cherry and Balm of Gilead. 
They also like all kinds of maple, and 
if scarcity of food compels them, they will 
[ 220 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


eat the bark of cedar, spruce, and hemlock. 
In some regions their chief diet is alder. 
But I have never known them to eat fish 
or flesh of any kind. 

Possibly one reason why their habits 
have never changed is that when Manitou 
reduced the size of the beavers he forgot 
to reduce the size of their great front teeth. 
When the beaver was creating the world, 
he needed chisels as well as trowels. These 
chisel-like teeth still remain, making it 
difficult for him to eat flesh diet. 

With his wife and children he lives in 
his humbly built home, training his family 
in the ways of industry and peace. Never 
more than one family lives in a house. 

His family consists of two to five children, 
the size of the house depending on the 
number of the occupants. The average 
house will measure about five feet in 
diameter, and from three to six feet above 
the water. The wall is about two feet 
thick and strong enough to support the 
[ 221 ] 


NED B REWS T E R’ S YEAR 


weight of a moose. When the wet earth 
freezes in winter, it would be impossible 
for any animal to break into the interior. 
It is air-tight, and the heat from the body 
of the beaver gives a very warm and cozy 
apartment in which the family, clad in 
their warm furs, can sit in the coldest 
weather. Each member of the family has 
his own bed, made of grass or the fiber of 
wood. As they are taught cleanliness as 
well as industry, their beds are frequently 
carried out and new ones put in their 
places. Two doors lead from the house 
into the pond that even in the coldest 
weather they may reach their food stored 
under the ice. These houses are built 
so well that long after a family is destroyed 
by a trapper, or for some reason deserts the 
old homestead, the house will stand, de- 
fying the storms and floods. 

The children of this devoted household 
remain under the care of the father and 
mother for two years. On the third year 
[ 222 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


they are sent forth on the quest for mates. 
When they find suitable companions, in- 
stead of returning to the parental care, 
they start homes of their own. They go 
a little farther up the stream, build a new 
dam and house, and begin their preparation 
for home making through the long winter. 

If one of the children fails to find a 
companion who can win his heart, or if he is 
refused by some proud and haughty maiden 
who is not quite ready to leave her mother, 
he may return one more winter to the old 
home. But he is given only one more 
chance. The next courting season he must 
marry. There can be no old bachelors 
about a beaver colony. Every male must 
assume his part of the burden of life, and if 
he does not find a wife the second season, 
he knows it is useless to return to eat 
the delicious bark from the family table. 
He must reap the fruit of his selfishness and 
live in loneliness. 

The most significant thing dad overlooked 
[ 223 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


about the beaver is that he is still a world 
builder. He has never lost his love for 
this art. Once he threw the world into 
place. He set the islands in the sea, 
and divided the mountains by the valleys. 
Now that these great tasks are done, he 
cannot be content in idleness. His desire 
to build worlds is still strong, and he 
busies himself building one of the most 
complete little worlds ever made. 

Where could you find a world so com- 
plete as a beaver colony ? The fox must 
travel over wide ranges to secure his food, 
and then often returns hungry to his den. 
The birds fly over the length of a continent 
to find climate and food for their simple 
wants. The whole world toils to give man 
a few of the necessities of life. But in a 
few square feet of ground the J beaver builds 
a world which gives him strength, health, 
and happiness. From this little spot he 
seldom ventures away, yet here he finds his 
food, here is his family, home, and play- 
[ 224 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


ground. There is not a need of the beaver 
family which is not supplied by this place. 
It is a world complete in itself, a world as 
complete as the world he created long ago. 

Truly there is some truth in the Indian 
legend. Dad may be right on his points, 
but I am sure Mose has more of the spirit 
of the beaver’s life than dad. 


[ 225 ]. 


MED BREfVS TER’S YEAR 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

MOSE TRIES TO RIDE A MOOSE 

M OSE and I sat by the lake one day 
well hidden in the brush. On the 
shore opposite from where we sat 
a bull moose plunged into the water and 
swam toward the middle of the lake. His 
horns were unusually large for the summer 
season. We could see that in the fall his 
head would truly be a prize for the hunter. 

“How’d you like to jump on his back, 
Mose ?” I asked, as we looked upon twenty- 
six points and a spread of antlers measuring 
over sixty inches. 

“ Don’t see why he couldn’t hold a 
man as easily as a horse,” was Mose’s 
evasive answer. 

Nothing more was said on the subject 
for several days, but I could see that Mose 
had something on his mind. He had a 
[ 226 ] 



Finally a Deer crept cautiously out of the Brush. 

See page 175 



A Bull swam toward the Middle of the Lake. Page 226 



IN THE BIG WOODS 


way of thinking over a subject for some 
time before he reached any definite con- 
clusion, and I let the leaven work. 

There was in our equipment a fine jack 
light which we had used for our flash-light 
work at night. It had caught the eye of 
Mose the first night we were out. 

Our canoe had passed through some clear 
water the depth of a paddle. Every rock 
on the bottom could be plainly seen. Large 
suckers moved about the bottom, feeding on 
the mud. This set queer notions to work 
in the mind of Mose. 

We were in a region] where the jack 
light was known only by vague report. 
Probably no deer or moose had ever been 
shot in that region behind an oil or an 
acetylene lamp. But there was a light 
familiar to every man of the place, the 
light of a pine knot used in the unlawful 
business of spearing salmon. At best it 
was a cumbersome arrangement and could 
not be burned for more than an hour. 

[m] 


NED BREWS TER' S YEAR 


When the strong light shot from our lamp 
to the bottom of the lake, the mind of Mose 
was more on the salmon pool than on the 
business immediately before us. He made it 
a frequent topic of conversation, and more 
than once his suggestion that he would 
like to buy the light did not fall far short 
of a hint that it would be an acceptable 
present at the end of our trip. 

One day as he grew eloquent over the 
advantages of spearing salmon by means 
of our light, I decided the right moment had 
come for striking a blow. 

“Mose, I’ll give you that light if you will 
ride a moose.” I had talked the matter over 
with dad and he had agreed. 

The offer was an awful blow at his mental 
poise. The coveted prize was within his 
grasp, yet at what a price. 

The country was full of wild stories of the 
savage fighting instincts of moose. Old 
Bill Lock had been chased ashore only a few 
years before by a bull which plunged into 
[ 228 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


the salmon pool after his light, and Bill 
still swore by his word and honor that 
it was not a moose but the Indian Devil. 
Many men in the clearing told of narrow 
escapes from the antlers of bulls and how 
they had been chased up trees by enraged 
cows. There were even reports from former 
years of one or two who had been pawed 
to death under the sharp hoofs of angry 
bulls. 

Taken together, these stories had a strange 
effect upon the minds of the natives, and 
when even the jack was within the grasp of 
Mose, he thought long before giving an 
answer. Had he been asked to deal with 
a bear or even the savage Canadian lynx, 
he would not have hesitated a moment, but 
the moose was a special horror to Mose 
and all his friends. 

He made no reply to my offer, but went 
to the buckets and drank a cup of cold 
water, a sure sign that he was nervous. 
He was unusually quiet as he cooked dinner. 

[ 229 ] 


NED BREIVSTER'S YEAR 


All the afternoon he lived in his own 
thoughts. The mood did not change until 
night. We sat at the supper table without 
a word. We could see that Mose was 
wrestling with a great question. As the 
last sup of tea was swallowed, he drew back 
from the table. 

“That jack is mine,” he said, at the 
same time putting down his teacup with a 
bang which indicated that his decision was 
final. “I’ll ride that moose to-morrow.” 

The evening was spent discussing various 
methods for the accomplishment of our 
venture. Dad was decidedly of the opinion 
that the first try ought to be made on a 
cow. Mose thought there were advantages 
in riding a bull. 

“Once I get hold of his horns he’ll never 
turn his head,” asserted Mose. 

“Just one swing of his head and he’d put 
a hole in you through which you could 
push a paddle,” declared dad. 

Mose had seen many bulls fight and knew 
[ 230 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


what ugly wounds they could inflict with 
the sharp point of their antlers. While he 
had great confidence in his own strength, 
after we had argued the point pro and 
con for some time, he was perfectly will- 
ing to make his first venture on a cow. 

“You just paddle the boat to her side 
and I’ll jump on her shoulders, grab an 
ear in each hand, and steer for the shore.” 

Mose gave the directions with as much 
confidence as though he had performed the 
feat many times and knew just what to do. 

“I’ll jump off before she gets into the 
woods,” he said, as we started to our 
bunks, jubilant over the prospect. 

The next morning Mose was again in 
a quiet mood. By his actions I could see 
he was halting between opinions. The 
night had either brought bad dreams or 
the stillness of our camp had permitted 
so many memories of former bull fights 
to bump against his determination that 
his courage was considerably lessened. 

[ 231 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


“Do not open the subject for conver- 
sation again,” said dad to me, as he saw it 
was a critical time. “Mose is of such stuff 
that he will not take the lead in any sur- 
render, but he might back out if you gave 
him a chance.” 

While Mose approached the subject many 
times, we willfully failed to notice him, 
and continued careful preparations for the 
ride. It was not until we were nearly at 
the lake that we uttered a single word on 
the subject. 

“Are you going to jump on her back 
the minute the boat comes alongside, 
Mose? ” asked dad. 

“ I’ve been thinking this over,” he replied 
with much feeling. 

“Not going to back out now, Mose?” 
I exclaimed. 

“No, I’m not backing out, but I’m 
going to try that critter before I get on 
her,” he said. 

“How are you going to do that in the 
[ 232 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


middle of the lake?” asked dad. “Seems 
to me one thing or the other.” 

“I’m going to experiment and see what 
she will do.” 

We crept quietly down to the lake wall. 
A big cow was feeding on the lilies not more 
than two hundred yards from shore. 

“She would hold two like you, Mose,” 
I whispered. 

Mose made no reply, but followed behind 
as we stole down to the boat. Dad re- 
mained hidden behind the lake wall to 
watch the chase. 

"As I paddled out in the direction of the 
cow, Mose was busy taking off his shoes. 
I could see his courage was returning. 

We were within a hundred feet of her 
before she moved. Then her big head 
popped up in the air, until she seemed to be 
sitting on her haunches, looking about in 
her fright. 

There was no possibility for her to reach 
the nearer shore, for we were between her 
[ 233 ] 


NED BREWSTER’ S YEAR 


and land, so she started across the lake. 
We were in hot pursuit. I put all the 
strength I possessed into the paddle, still 
she swam faster than I could put the boat 
through the water. I had chased many 
moose, but she was the strongest swimmer 
I had ever seen. 

“ You’ll have to take a hand at that 
paddle, Mose, if we catch her.” 

Mose was getting decidedly into the 
spirit of the chase, and seizing a paddle 
he bent hard to the task. The bow of our 
boat was soon by the side of the moose. 

“Til take her now, Mose. You do the 
stunt.” 

To my astonishment, Mose reached over 
the side of the boat and seized the old cow 
by the hair of her back. I immediately 
dropped the paddle and took the camera, 
knowing that she would take the boat along 
with her. 

She evidently thought all the moose 
demons of the forest, bear, lynx, man, and 
[ 234 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


devil had attacked her. At first she put 
back her big ears and redoubled her efforts to 
reach the shore. Finding the weight tugging 
at her back, she began to roll and plunge. 

I had secured one picture showing Mose 
holding desperately to her back and 
had just snapped a second, showing only 
the tip of her ears over the bow. Had I 
not been so busy with the camera, I might 
have realized what was happening. 

She gave one vicious swing under the 
boat, a quick roll, and we were over, boat, 
cameras, men, and all. It was done so 
quickly there was no time to think. 

When Mose came up from under the boat, 
the blood running down his cheek from his 
mix-up with the moose, I was treading 
water a dozen feet away, trying] to hold my 
camera and save the only plate I had secured. 
The cow was a hundred feet or more off, 
making straight for the shore. 

“Old devil!” was Mose’s only comment, 
as he brushed the blood from his face. 

[ 235 ] 


NED BREIVSTER’S YEAR 


“Get that boat over here quick,” I 
shouted. “Can’t swim very far with two 
cameras in my hands.” 

We soon climbed into the boat, bailed 
out enough water to float us, and were 
making for the shore. I hastened to my 
dark-room to save the precious plates that 
had already been soaked. Mose came 
along with dad, discussing the reasons for 
the accident. 

When I came out of the dark-room with 
good reports concerning the pictures, they 
were both sitting on a log in front of the 
cabin. I looked at Mose with sort of a 
tantalizing smile. 

T “I’ll do it this afternoon or die,” he said, 
at the same time giving his head a de- 
termined shake. 

“Better jump right on her back, then, 
without any preliminaries,” I suggested. \ 

“I have that all worked out. You just 
trust me,” he replied, with an air of one not 
open to suggestion. 

[ 236 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


In the early part of the afternoon we were 
off again to the lake. Six cows were feeding 
a few hundred feet from shore. 

/ “That farther cow is the one we want,” 
said Mose, pointing to a great, brown-faced 
creature, which would have weighed nearly a 
thousand pounds, standing half out of water. 

Not a cow moved until we were very near 
them. Then a blind man might have 
thought a hundred motor boats were puffing 
and churning mud and water by the sounds 
in front of us. 

We passed them all and made for the 
brown-faced cow, large enough to bear 
the weight of two men. It was a short 
chase. Her body was too large to make 
much headway through the mud. A small 
calf that had started with her soon left her 
far behind. 

“This is an easy trick, Mose. We can 
do anything we want.” 

Whether or not Mose was of the same 
opinion, he did not speak. 

[ 237 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


“Take your time so I’ll get good pictures,” 
I said, as he reached out and took a handful 
of her mane. 

Mose was just posing to spring on her back 
when she swung a little too far from the 
boat. 

“Slow now, Mose, so I can get all of your 
poses.” 

Just then the old cow swung toward us. 
Mose was balancing himself for a spring. 
Whether he bore down too hard on her 
back or what happened will never be known. 

The cow rolled on her side till one hind 
leg was out of water. She gave that leg a 
sweep through the air, striking the side of 
our frail boat, breaking every board, and 
making the boat leak like a sieve. The blow 
put both of us overboard. One of my 
cameras went to the bottom of the lake. 
The old cow went free toward shore. 

We were in a worse predicament than 
we had been in the morning. The boat was 
a wreck; she would do little more than 
[ 238 ] 



Two Calves got into a Fight over Something. 
See page 242 



“Well, Old Boy, it’s all off! Let’s go and play again.” 

See page 243 




























































* 

















































































» 















* 

































IN THE BIG WOODS 


float her own weight. We tied the only 
remaining camera in the bow, and each took 
a light hold well back toward the stern of 
the boat and began the long task of swim- 
ming ashore. 

After we had reached land, scraped off 
the mud, and gotten ourselves into a livable 
condition, we started for camp. Not a word 
was spoken until we had gone some distance. 
Even dad looked serious. 

Mose was the first to break the silence. 

“Wouldn’t ride a moose for all the durn 
jacks in the States,” he said. 

We commended his judgment and all 
agreed that moose were poor saddle-horses, 
at least in a lake. 


[ 239 ] 


NED BREWSTER’ S YEAR 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

HOW WE TAMED A CALF MOOSE 

T HERE were as many calf moose about 
the lake near our camp as calves 
about the yards of a Western cattle 
ranch. We counted five hundred and thirty- 
six moose in four weeks. Most of them were 
cows, and each cow had one or two calves. 
Perhaps once a month some woodsman 
would visit the lake, stopping only from 
curiosity to see if he could surpass the record 
count of moose feeding at one time in the 
pond. (The record count was fifty-seven.) 
But outside of this occasional visitor, those 
moose were unmolested by man. It was 
an ideal spot for cows and their young. 

On a clear night we could hear the grunt of 
the cows and the whine of the calves a mile 
away. As we approached the lake in the 
[ 240 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


heat of the day, when the sun poured down 
upon the backs of the little fellows and the 
clouds of moose flies bored into their tender 
skins, we could easily imagine ourselves in a 
great day nursery, where all the babies were 
crying together, and order and quiet were 
turned into chaos. <* 

How much like our own babies these calf 
moose are ! Indeed there were times when 
we could easily imagine a baby of three or 
four months, or even a year, crying in the 
edge of the forest. 

“Hear that little fellow cry ‘Ma!’” 
whispered dad, as we sat one day listening 
to their sounds. 

The cry came from a calf in distress across 
the lake. The mother had been feeding too 
long and the baby was hungry. He began 
his calls early in the afternoon, but the 
mother did not answer. As time passed and 
his hunger increased, his cries became more 
impatient, until there was unceasing com- 
plaint, and truly no human baby could call 
[ 241 ] 


NED BREWST E R’ S YEAR 


mother more distinctly than did that little 
moose. 

Among these calves are big bullies who 
domineer over all the smaller ones; natural 
leaders who guide the play ; dull, backward 
ones who become victims of disease and 
easy prey to danger ; and alert, bright-eyed 
beauties who quickly scent danger and 
escape enemies. One afternoon I watched 
a big bully, a calf larger and stronger than 
the rest, walk in a drove of a dozen or more 
young calves, whip them from their feeding 
ground, chase them away from their play, 
and generally disturb their afternoon of fun, 
just as the big boy on a city playground 
disturbs the sport of half a dozen boys for 
the entire day. 

Two smaller calves, on another occasion, 
got into a fight over something and they 
attacked each other in vigorous fashion. 
Back went their ears, their short manes 
bristled, they poked with their noses, struck 
with their front feet, and plunged on one 
[ 242 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


another’s backs until the smaller of the two 
ran away. As he ran he kept looking back, 
his mane still bristling as though he were 
saying, as every whipped boy does: “You 
wait, I’ll fix you next time.” 

However, they were soon friends again. 
The defeated calf ran a short distance, then 
lay down on the soft, cool earth. In a 
few minutes the victorious calf walked up 
and affectionately smelled him, the moose 
way of saying: “Well, old boy, it’s all off ! 
Let’s go and play again.” Soon the two 
friends were frisking and running along the 
shore as though nothing had happened. 

One never knows just what to expect 
when he approaches a calf, whether the 
little fellow will make friends or run away. 
Some of them are more timid and alert 
than the wildest deer. I have seen them 
run from the crack of the tiniest twig, 
whining until every moose in the lake be- 
came frightened and swam for shore. 

They must have a language easily under- 
[ 243 ] 


NED B REIVS T ER’ S YEAR 


stood by the cows and bulls. I once 
frightened a calf while approaching the lake. 
It was a young bull, not more than two 
months old. He plunged into the water and 
swam across. No enraged monkey ever 
kept up a more constant chatter than that 
frightened calf. His voice ranged through 
more than a dozen notes. There were over 
thirty moose in the lake when he ran, and if 
an army of men with repeating rifles had 
started for them in canoes, keeping up an 
incessant firing, those moose could not 
have made a greater effort to reach the 
shore than they did from the impression 
conveyed to them by the frightened calf. 

But other calves are so unsuspecting of 
danger and are so ready to be friends that 
they seem not to belong to the wild crea- 
tures. I once walked out on a point of 
land extending into the lake and found 
three calves waiting for their mothers to 
return from their feeding. I used the 
utmost caution in stealing upon them, 
[ 244 ] 



There’s the Fellow we want.” See page 247 


































• 

































- 



IN THE BIG WOODS 


as there were six cows in the lake to form 
a background for my picture. After con- 
suming an hour crawling through mud and 
making my way without a sound through 
the low bushes, I finally rose to snap a 
picture. 

I expected to see them bound away into 
the brush from the noise of my camera. 
To my astonishment they never moved. 
Then I began to talk to them in the calf 
language and quietly approach nearer. One 
calf grew nervous and walked away a few 
feet, but the others remained perfectly still 
until I approached within ten feet of them. 
Then I continued to talk until the timid 
calf returned, lost all his nervousness, and 
lay down in front of me. I could have 
touched him with my hand. Our con- 
versation continued more than an hour, 
and I snapped calves in all sorts of poses 
before returning to camp. 

To my amazement, after I had gone a 
few yards, I found two of the calves 
[ 245 ] 


NED BREIVS TER’S YEAR 


following me. They trotted behind as pets 
accustomed to follow. After we had gone 
some distance from the lake, they showed 
no disposition to return. It was only after 
I ran away from them, losing them in the 
dense forest, that they finally went back to 
the lake and to their mothers. 

Repeated experiences such as this led us 
to think that a moose calf would make a 
fine camp pet and a good companion in the 
woods. They seemed to have more of the 
qualities necessary for a pet than any 
wild creature of the forest, and with the 
help of dad I began to plan the capture of 
a choice specimen. 

We agreed that we would avoid taking a 
small sorrel calf that was still dependent 
upon milk for its living. We had no cow, 
and we knew it would mean certain death to 
separate such a calf from its mother. 

After talking the matter over, we con- 
cluded that we wanted a little bull, one 
that was already a brownish black and 
[ 246 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


was not far from the weaning season. We 
knew it would require considerable skill to 
capture this type, and a long struggle to sub- 
due him, but it was excitement we wanted. 

One day we crept quietly to the edge of 
the forest and scanned the lake through 
our big glasses. There were twenty-five 
moose in the lake. About the center of 
it stood a young bull on a bunch of lily 
roots. Against the water he looked black 
as jet and almost as big as a yearling. 

“There’s the fellow we want, dad,” I 
whispered. 

“You’ll change your mind, my boy, 
before you get through with that animal,” 
dad replied. 

But we made the rope ready, took all the 
kinks out of it so it would throw well, and 
started for the chase. Quietly we stole 
down the shore, out along the edge of the 
lilies, and were within a hundred yards 
of the young bull before he discovered us. 
He plunged into the open water and we 
[ 247 ] 


NED B REITS T ER’ S YEAR 


followed in hot pursuit. The distance be- 
tween the boat and the calf narrowed. 
We were within a hundred feet, then fifty. 

‘Til take her now,” said dad. “You 
get the rope ready.” 

I stood up in the bow. The rope was 
arranged for a cast. I tell you, I was glad 
I had learned to throw the lasso. We were 
within forty feet. Two or three circles 
round my head and out went the rope, but 
I missed. The bull put his head deep in the 
water, and the rope slipped over his crown. 
Again and again I threw, but every time 
this was my luck. 

He was almost ashore. His feet could 
touch the bottom, his head was high out of 
water, and he was racing, lost in a white 
spray. Dad was laughing at my clumsy 
throws. I gave a long cast, the noose fell 
perfectly, and the line slipped over his neck. 

He made one leap, as though all the 
demons of the forest were after him. The 
rope tightened with a jerk that almost threw 
[ 248 ] 


3 




Dad had taken him about the Neck to relieve the 
Pressure of the Rope. Page 250 


Our Pet. Page 251 























































































IN THE BIG WOODS 


dad backwards out of the boat. The moose 
never stopped to look behind, but took that 
boat at a desperate speed. 

Within fifty feet of the shore the bow 
stuck fast in mud. 

“ Jump ! Now’s your chance!” shouted 
dad. 

I sprang and sank in mud to my waist. 
One mighty jerk of the rope and I was off 
my feet, being dragged through dirty, slimy 
mud. It did not seem possible that a three 
months’ old calf could possess such powers. 

He took me through that watery ooze 
as though I had been a log and he a team 
of horses. 

My time came when we reached the 
shore. Once my feet were on solid ground 
I had some chance. He took me two or 
three times for a spin up and down the 
beach. He certainly would have gotten 
away if dad had not come to the rescue, 
for my breath was gone. I turned the rope 
over to dad while I used the camera. 

[ 249 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


The transfer came near being more serious 
for me than it did for the calf. Dad had 
taken him about the neck to relieve the 
pressure of the rope, which was a bad move, 
for it gave the calf new advantage. He 
started down the beach with dad. As I 
stooped to pick up the camera, his heels 
flew into the air, and the end of the kick just 
reached the pit of my stomach and knocked 
out the last bit of breath in my body. 

I lay for some minutes limp as a rag, 
while dad and the calf were performing all 
sorts of antics on the beach. He reared 
in the air and tried to strike. Then he 
landed an upper-cut with his hind leg 
which lifted dad a foot from the ground and 
left a sore spot for several days. 

The little creature seemed to be more 
frightened at the camera than at either of 
us. Every time it clicked the struggle was 
renewed. 

“If you want me to hold this calf, put 
that camera down,” dad finally shouted. 

[ 250 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


I put it to one side and we began the 
real work of showing the calf we wanted to 
be friends. At first it seemed a hopeless 
task. We were both nearly exhausted, and 
the calf was determined as ever. But 
just when we were about to decide that our 
undertaking was a foolish venture, the little 
bull began to weaken. He stood still, let us 
rub his neck, put down his bristling mane, 
and seemed to be quite reconciled. 

We changed the knot in the rope so it 
would not choke him, and tied him to a 
tree while we lay down to rest. In a few 
minutes he was eating lilies from our 
hands. 

Our pet proved to be of greater value to 
us than we had ever dreamed. He lived 
with us about the camp, slept in the hovel, 
and followed us through the woods. Not 
once, after the first few days, did he show 
any desire to return to his wild and free life. 

After we had kept him about the camp for 
several days, we took him to the lake for 
[ 251 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


a feast of lilies. He trotted from the forest 
to the edge of the water, while we kept in 
hiding. There were three moose within 
fifty feet of where we sat, and when they 
saw our little bull calf come from the brush 
into the open they thought there could be 
no danger, and continued to feed with 
contentment. 

This suggested a new idea. 

“We will use that calf as a decoy in 
securing pictures, ” said dad. 

I thought dad had struck a brilliant 
plan and it proved a most successful one in 
enabling us to snap many fine specimens 
which would have been beyond our reach 
without this aid. 

A bull moose with at least a sixty-five- 
inch spread of horns was standing one day 
on a point of land which ran out into the 
lake. We had to reach it through a swamp 
and a heavy alder growth. To approach 
the bull without noise was impossible. We 
urged our pet ahead of us. The noise he 
[ 252 ] 



The Old Bull had heard us coming. Page 253 



IN THE BIG WOODS 


made wading through mud and breaking 
sticks drowned to some extent the noise 
we made as we followed behind him in 
mud to our waists. 

The swamp led to a short piece of dry- 
ground at the shore of the lake. The old 
bull had heard us coming and was very- 
nervous. When the calf began to nibble 
the lily roots, the suspicions of the big bull 
were overcome, and we crept quietly to the 
edge of the woods, where we secured a 
wonderful picture. 

The only moose about the lake which had 
outwitted us was a three-year-old bull. 
He carried his three little spikes with a 
dignity becoming a true monarch with a 
mighty spread of antlers. He walked about 
the lake with a caution which would indicate 
that he had the responsibility of the entire 
region on his back. Many times, through 
the glasses, we detected his face peering 
through the brush. He would stand for 
an hour without moving, trying to scent 
[ 253 ] 


NED B R EW S T E R’ S YEAR 


danger, and we could never get near enough 
to snap his picture. 

One day, as we lay hidden in a blind, we 
saw his brown face looking out of the 
brush not more than a hundred yards 
above us. The little pet lay by our sides. 
We gently urged him to his feet and made 
him walk out upon the beach. Immedi- 
ately the proud bull came from cover, 
trotted boldly to the water, and began to 
feed. Gradually he came toward us until 
there were not more than fifty feet between 
him and our camera. Then we snapped 
and, thanks to our pet, the one bull that 
had evaded us was ours. 

A fatal day, however, came when we 
used our decoy to get close to a group of 
calves. They were playing in shallow 
water, chasing one another as children at 
tag. When our pet walked out to them, 
there was a sudden bristling of manes and 
humping of backs. They were ready for a 
fight. It is customary in the school of the 
[ 254 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


moose to whip the newest pupil, just ks it 
is in our district schools. They were all 
banded together to give him a good flogging, 
at least to try his courage and strength. 

The new life our pet had led robbed him 
of none of his fighting qualities. He threw 
himself into form and went into the ring. 
After the first round they were satisfied 
and took him into their circle. But it 
was a sad time for us. After we had 
snapped all the pictures we wanted, we 
stepped out of the woods. Every calf 
bounded away, our pet with them. We 
called, but in vain. He went with better 
company. 


[ 255 ] 


NED BREWS T E R’ S YEAR 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

LONELY HEART, THE PARTRIDGE 

T HE fox, the skunk, and Bill’s breech- 
loading gun had taken one after 
another from the brood of the old 
partridge which fed about our cabin. From 
the time the birds left their nest, and a 
little fellow died with a part of the shell 
hanging to his back, we had watched them 
steadily disappear, until only the mother 
and one little chick remained. Then, one 
day, we heard a shot not far from our 
cabin and the mother was never seen again. 

One late autumn morning, when the 
frost sparkled on the logs which led to our 
spring, the little orphan was seen perching 
on a twig, well hidden in a clump of spruce. 
She rested on one foot. Her feathers 
drooped. The tips of her wings hung by 
her side. 


[ 256 ] 



Lonely Heart. Page 256 






IN THE BIG WOODS 


Well she might look lonely. She had 
been left alone too early in life. Her 
mother had been taken from her too soon. 
The killing of her brothers and sisters had 
deprived her of that element of play that 
her young nature so much needed. While 
other flocks of partridges were running 
about the woods in families or at least 
two or three birds together, she was alone, 
a solitary bird in the silent wilderness. 

Possibly it was not so much the fact 
that she was alone as that she had known 
so much of the tragedy of life which made 
her sad. She had seen her family gradually 
disappear. One night she perched upon a 
limb beside the only brother that remained. 
A great horned owl swooped down upon 
them and carried him away, while she 
was knocked over almost senseless by the 
flap of the murderer’s savage wing. A 
few days later there was a sudden noise, 
like a clap of thunder. Her mother fell to 
the ground, nor did she ever rise and come 
[ 257 ] 


NED BREIVSTER’S YEAR 


back to her again. There had been nothing 
except tragedy in the little bird’s life, and 
she reflected it in her moods. 

We came to know her as Lonely Heart. 
As we went on our journeys into the woods, 
we often saw her sitting by the trail, con- 
cealed in the brush. When the snow came, 
she would sometimes drop down into it 
to keep warm through the bitter cold 
night, then crawl forth in the morning to 
feed upon the buds in the tree tops and warm 
herself in the sunny nook of some protected 
spot. 

Whether she was actually lonely or 
whether, knowing her sad history, we read 
our own feelings into her moods, would be 
difficult to determine. The fact was she 
seemed to have no interest in life, remaining 
through the winter a solitary bird, truly 
a lonely heart in a little dark pocket of the 
forest. 

When the first warm days of April came 
and the snow began to melt, except in the 
[ 258 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


thickly wooded sections where the sun 
could not penetrate, I was stopped one 
day, as I walked along an old logging road, 
by an unusual sound. It was not far from 
where I stood. As the leaves on the ground 
were wet from the shower of the previous 
day, I crept carefully along in the direction 
of the noise, hiding my approach as much 
as possible behind the largest trees. The 
sound was repeated, this time only a few 
feet away, like a wounded bird beating its 
wings against the ground. 

Advancing a step farther, looking over a 
slight rise of ground, I beheld two cock 
partridges arrayed in fierce battle. The 
black feathers about their necks were so 
fluffy they pointed directly towards their 
heads. The feathers on their bodies were 
so extended the birds looked twice their 
natural size. They withdrew a few feet 
from one another, defiantly shook their 
heads, and rushed forward with such speed 
that the mere impact of their bodies carried 
[ 259 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


them a foot or more into the air. Then 
they struck with bills and wings until it 
seemed that neither could have any eyes 
remaining. 

This process was repeated several times, 
when evidently the larger bird gave the 
other a blow with his bill which either cut 
or stunned him. The smaller bird stag- 
gered, caught himself, then backed away 
until he was at a safe distance, when he 
ran into hiding. 

The larger bird was so proud of his 
victory that he spread his tail and strutted 
vainly up and down the log on which he 
stood. He raised himself on tip-toe, dis- 
tended his whole body as much as possible, 
and began to swing his wings in the most 
violent manner. I could scarcely believe 
my ears. Before me was rising that 
strange sound I had heard so often floating 
over the meadows and down the hillsides, 
the drum of a partridge. 

A slight motion in the brush just beyond 

[ 260 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


the log revealed Lonely Heart. Then I 
knew it was not for his victory over the 
cock partridge that the proud male was 
drumming, but because Lonely Heart was 
near. 

I could not at first believe it was Lonely 
Heart. Her manner was changed. There 
was not the least suggestion of loneliness. 
The orphan look had given way to a queenly 
bearing. Her feathers no longer drooped. 
They fitted snugly in the best bird fashion. 
The alertness with which she looked for the 
approach of enemies by land or sky showed 
that life had a new meaning for her. While 
she gave little heed to the proud lover, — 
modesty fitting a young lass in partridge 
land, — her very attitude told that every 
drum of the ardent lover found a response 
in her heart. 

It was truly the cock bird’s crazy season. 
He turned his silvery feathers to the sun, 
carried his plumes in regal style, and spread 
his wide tail. He was swamped under 
[ 261 ] 


NED BREWSTERS YEAR 


some wild feeling, some wave which 
ingulfed him and Lonely Heart. He 
hopped from the log to her side. 

My curiosity was too great. I forgot 
my cunning and made an unguarded move- 
ment. The two birds rose as by some 
common signal and were out of sight in 
less time than a man could have put a gun 
to his shoulder. 

They sailed away to the pine grove 
above our cabin. There they spent their 
honeymoon. Every morning before sun- 
rise the proud bird could be heard drumming 
to his mate. When the sun rose over the 
ridge, she led him forth for their morning 
meal. Later in the day they were lost in 
the shadow of the pines. 

A few days later Mose ran into the cabin 
without ceremony, exclaiming in his excite- 
ment : 4 4 Little Lonely Heart has a nest, just 
by the logging road down here.” 

44 What part of the road?” I asked, 
eager to know the spot. 

[ 262 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


“ Under the old cedar tree. She looks 
happy now.” 

While he took me to the very spot, it 
was some minutes before either of us could 
see her, so perfectly was she protected by 
the coloring of her surroundings. 

“ Queer ! I saw her just a minute ago,” he 
exclaimed, irritated that he could not dis- 
cover her more promptly. 

Finally my eye distinguished her red- 
brown, motionless form against the brown 
leaves, rocks and sticks, reddish roots and 
bark of the cedar which she had chosen for 
her protection. She sat with perfect con- 
tentment upon twelve spotted eggs, and 
would not have moved unless we had 
stepped perilously near her nest. 

While we had passed her often, not one 
had discovered her, so perfectly was she 
hidden. Each day one of us would steal 
quietly down, throw a handful of grain 
near where she sat, and talk to her of the 
happy days to come. 

[ 263 ] 


NED B R EW S T E R’ S YEAR 


It was surprising how friendly Lonely 
Heart became. By slow degree and care- 
ful, easy movements, were we able to 
approach almost to her nest and sprinkle 
grain about the roots of the old tree before 
she would fly. But when the brood came, 
she lost every element of friendliness. She 
was as wild as any creature of the wilderness. 

“Little Lonely Heart has hatched,” was 
my first knowledge of the great event, 
announced by dad, as he came one day into 
the cabin. Neither of us had been to the 
nest for some time. 

I immediately started to find the brood. 
I had not gone far from the nest when 
Lonely Heart ran before me as though she 
had been mortally wounded. She flapped 
her wings, dragged herself over the ground, 
fell over logs and rocks, keeping just far 
enough ahead to encourage my pursuit. 
Her natural instincts would not even per- 
mit her to trust one who had been so kind 
during her nesting season. 

[ 264 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


That I might not be defeated in my 
purpose by her cunning, I followed her 
floundering movements until she thought 
she had led me far enough from her chicks. 
Then she rose on strong wing, darted off 
through the dark woods, and was soon lost 
from view. 

I quickly turned and went back to the 
spot where I had first seen her. There was 
not a sign of any chick. Sitting down by 
a log, as much the color of my brown coat 
as I could select, I waited for the return 
of the mother. 

For a long time there was no sign of any 
bird. When I had given up the search and 
my eye moved lazily over the leaves and 
roots, it finally discovered something like 
a tiny bill. Slowly my vision outlined a 
shapeless ball of fuzz resting on a leaf so 
much its own color that the two could 
scarcely be distinguished. 

Then came the gentle Jcreet, kreet , kreet 
of Lonely Heart. The bird which is sup- 
[ 265 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


posed to make so much noise in flying had 
sailed down as gently as a gnat, back to 
the very spot where she had left her chil- 
dren. At the first kreet the earth seemed to 
be alive with birds. The little fluffy crea- 
tures sprang from leaves and rocks and 
roots, gathering about the anxious mother, 
uttering their low, thrilling notes which no 
one except a careful listener could have 
heard. 

A few days later I had the best chance to 
observe Lonely Heart and her brood that 
ever came to me. I had been sitting for 
some time at the edge of a small clearing, 
where the sun shone warmly, waiting for 
some creature passing through the wilds. 
There was a quiet kreet, kreet, and on the 
opposite side of the clearing the whole 
brood followed the mother into the open. 
She proceeded to a little knoll, gave two 
or three vigorous scratches with her 
feathery feet, and lifted the roof off of an 
ant-hill. The enraged insects ran furiously 
[ 266 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


in every direction, so confused by the sudden 
attack that all except the most thoughtful 
forgot to take their nests with them. 

Picking up one or two eggs, Lonely 
Heart swallowed them before the eyes of 
her children. She seized others and threw 
them before the little waddling creatures, 
until she finally induced one chick to eat 
the dainty morsel. Then the entire brood 
was seized with a desire for eggs, scratching 
and picking over the ant-hill, tumbling over 
each other to reach a new place made by 
the scratch of the mother, until the ant-hill 
was like a village pillaged in war, while the 
ants ran to the nearest place for safety. 
When the little birds were so full they could 
eat no more, they waddled away to the 
thicket, following the kreet of the mother. 

The next day they stole all my wild 
strawberries in the meadow not far from 
camp. This was the last sign I saw of the 
birds until the moulting season under 
the warm sun of August. I had been 
[ 267 ] 


NED B REW S T E R 9 S YEAR 


sitting on the shore of a lake where some 
fishermen had each day cleaned their fish. 
The mink had acted as scavengers, and I 
was waiting to secure a picture of one of 
these shy creatures. Just above me was a 
small opening in the woods, where a party 
had once camped. It was overgrown with 
high brakes and was alive with grasshoppers. 
As I was waiting for the mink, I heard a 
strange noise behind me, but did not dare 
to turn lest I should frighten the creatures 
away. There was more than one animal. 
Several were running over the dry leaves, 
jumping and tumbling like kittens at play. 
Finally I was able to turn my head just 
enough to see a flock of partridges. They 
were making war on the grasshoppers, 
chasing the little green things through the 
brakes, picking them off the stones, jumping 
to take them from the leaves, and working 
general havoc upon the colony of insects. 

But there were only six in the flock. 
Already disease, the fox, the owl, or old 
[ 268 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Bill’s gun had reduced the family half. 
Still little Lonely Heart clucked as cheerily 
and walked away as proudly as though she 
had all her children by her side. 

The hardest days for Lonely Heart were 
just ahead. She had fought with beast 
and disease and had saved six birds, plump 
and fat, with fine plumage. She was yet 
to meet her greatest enemy. The hunting 
season opened. The hunter came with his 
dog and gun. The birds had to meet a new 
foe, matching their instincts against his 
intelligence. 

One day a yellow cur ran through the 
berry patch where the birds were feeding. 
They flew into a large birch. The dog 
seemed frozen as he pointed his long nose 
toward them and extended his tail. They 
had angered many foxes by sitting on 
branches beyond their reach and laughing at 
their hunger. But they had never seen a fox 
quite as foolish as this one, so paralyzed by 
his disappointment. A fox he was to them. 

[ 269 ] 


NED BREWSTERS YEAR 


They knew no distinction between Reynard 
and a dog. 

The poor mother was frantic. She knew 
it was old Bilks yellow cur. Kwit! Kwit! 
Fly! Fly! Danger! Dog! But they would 
not move. What fun they were having 
with the stupid creature, outwitted by 
their smartness. 

They did not see Bill sneaking behind 
the trees. “You silly fox” was their only 
thought as they clucked, extended their 
long necks, tantalizingly turned their heads, 
winked their mischievous eyes. 

Bang! The big gun thundered. Two of 
the finest birds fell fluttering and bleeding 
to the ground. 

They say birds have no memories. Per- 
haps not. But one could well think all 
the tragedy of Lonely Heart’s past flooded 
her tiny life when those birds fell. Did she 
think of her mother who had fallen before 
a like sound ? Did that night the owl car- 
ried away her brother come back to her ? 

[ 270 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Or was it only her mother heart that was 
broken ? We only know that Lonely Heart 
did strange things. Old Bill told a woods- 
man that “in forty years of huntin’ he’d 
never seen such a crazy bird.” 

She flew as though chased by demons, 
and never stopped with her four remaining 
birds until she had led them over the ridge, 
down to the cedar swamp. 

There was only one opening through 
this tangle where man ever ventured, and 
then only on snow-shoes after the snow 
came. In this matted growth, Lonely Heart 
and her children remained, and though the 
little ones often cried for the buds and the 
berries on the ridge, Lonely Heart would 
not venture there. She had a horror of 
Old Bill. Possibly she thought of the long 
winter. She wanted to keep her remaining 
children. 

When the first light snow came in October, 
old Bill, passing along this logging road, 
saw tracks of the birds and set his snares. 
[ 271 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


A few days later, I discovered several 
feeding places which Bill had made to en- 
tice the birds to his traps. In one 
twitch-up hung a bird with a beautiful 
ruff. Its neck was torn where the wire 
had tightened about the tender skin. Its 
fine feathers were broken from the struggle. 
The lifeless bird hung in the wind, hung 
until dead by the chief executioner of the 
wilderness. 

The three remaining birds were males, 
one a bird of unusual beauty. When 
he spread his tail and proudly strutted 
before the eyes of his mother, she rejoiced 
over her kingly child. But the surviving 
children being males, their family ties were 
not strong. Soon after the first snow fell, 
a restless spirit came into all of them. 
They began to wander long distances from 
home. One morning, frightened by chop- 
pers going into the woods, they rose on 
strong wing and darted in different direc- 
tions. They never met again. Though 
[ 272 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Lonely Heart called faithfully and hunted 
the woods for many days, her venturesome 
sons were heedless to her kreet and wandered 
in fields unknown. 

Lonely Heart was left again in the silent 
wilderness, a solitary bird. 


[ 273 ] 


NED BREWST E R’ S YEAR 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

HOW I LEARNED TO CALL MOOSE 

W E were taking a long tramp with 
heavy packs on our backs into a 
lake country where the salmon 
fishing was excellent. The region through 
which we traveled was covered with a 
heavy pine and spruce growth, broken at 
intervals by a hardwood ridge or an occa- 
sional cedar swamp. The birds were in 
great abundance. Spruce partridges were 
almost as common as robins in our public 
parks. The sweet, faint notes of the 
warblers came from the dense growth. 
Nuthatches, cross-bills, and innumerable 
smaller birds hopped about our trail. I 
had heard faint notes ahead of me all the 
morning which I could not locate. Finally 
we put down our packs to rest in a delight- 
ful stretch of pines. Over us was a pine 
[ 274 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


warbler, timid, nervous, flitting from branch 
to branch, gathering food from the rough 
bark, and plucking tiny insects from the 
needles. I was resting on a clump of soft 
moss, when I heard again the familiar bird 
notes, and turning toward Mose I saw him 
talking with the warblers. 

I had already found that Mose was able 
to talk the language of nearly all the wild 
animals. When young rabbits hopped from 
the brush about our camp, he spoke to 
them in such gentle tones that after a few 
days they came under our table to pick 
up the crumbs that fell on the floor. A nest 
of ground hogs had their home by our 
camp. Early one morning I heard Mose 
conversing with them. After a few days 
the little fellows would remain upon a log, 
sunning themselves, as we passed along. 
When the spring came, our front yard 
became a gathering place every morning 
and evening for the choice birds of the 
forest. I verily believe that had Mose 
[27 5 ] 


NED B REWST E R’ S YEAR 


undertaken the task of having these birds 
eat out of his hands, he would have had 
cross-bills and j uncos feeding from his 
fingers like doves in our public parks. 

“How do you get so friendly with them, 
Mose?” I asked, as a warbler hopped 
down near where we were sitting, evi- 
dently drawn by the notes Mose had been 
whistling. 

“No use to be looked on as a thug and 
murderer by everything, is there ?” he 
answered. “If you want to be friends to 
people, you have to talk with them, 
haven’t you ?” 

That put a new idea into my head and I 
set out to be naturalized. I was a foreigner 
among the people I loved, because I could 
not speak their language. Birds fled in a 
panic before my awkward approach and 
deer and moose ran for their lives or gazed 
at me behind thick brush or distant trees. 
It was all because I could not tell them I 
was their friend. 


[ 276 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


Unfortunately there was no grammar to 
unravel the mysteries of their tongue nor 
first reader to explain their simplest sounds. 
There was, however, one bit of fortune at 
hand. We had killed an enormous porcu- 
pine. Some careless camper had thrown 
salt over the old stump in front of our door. 
Day and night, especially the latter, por- 
cupines came to this spot to feed. All 
winter we had been troubled by them. 
The quiet hours of our sleep had been 
constantly disturbed by their chisel teeth 
cutting the dry, hard stump. One morning 
while we sat at breakfast, an unusually 
large porcupine climbed the stump and 
began work. Our twenty-two rifle soon 
brought her down, and Mose threw her 
by the brook some distance from the 
cabin. 

That night her young found her by the 
water and tried to draw an evening meal 
from her cold body. It was the first time 
in my life I ever felt a grain of sympathy 
[ 277 ] 


NED BREWS T E R y S YEAR 


for a porcupine. One little fellow came 
morning and evening, sitting by the side 
of his dead mother, crying for a bit of milk. 
It was a cry that would have touched with 
pity even the greatest hater of these friends 
of no man. 

Knowing that children are the best teach- 
ers of language, I sat every day by the 
brook to learn the little orphan’s tongue. 
At first my Greek and Latin seemed 
easy compared to this new study. 
The sounds were so strange I dared not 
utter them in the presence of my teacher 
lest I should frighten him away. I took 
them in memory back to the camp and 
practised them on Mose. He humbly de- 
clared he could catch no sound resembling 
that of the hedgehog. After days of prac- 
tice, however, I ventured to address the 
orphan, when to my astonishment he 
stopped, answered in tones which I in- 
terpreted as being friendly, and walked 
clumsily toward me. 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


That night I was awakened by two 
porcupines passing my tent, talking in the 
most animated fashion over the salt stump 
just ahead. I sat up in bed and joined the 
conversation. To my surprise, and I must 
add almost consternation, the two bristling 
creatures walked into the door of my tent, 
possibly with the notion that some comrade 
had preceded them and found the white 
man’s butter box or pork barrel. It must 
have been a stern disappointment to them 
to see the white man himself in his 
tent, but it was a triumph for me. I felt 
that my apprenticeship was at an end and 
I could safely begin with other tongues. 

The lake seemed the best place for my 
next language course. Every morning I 
started to its shores with a sandwich in my 
pocket, to spend the day hidden in the brush 
and listen to the sounds from our noblest 
animals. I was never disappointed. At 
times I was surrounded by moose and 
listened to every tone, from the pleading 
[ 279 ] 


NED B REW S T E R’ S YEAR 


cry of the small, hungry calf to the nasal 
challenge of the bull, and from the gruff, 
affectionate voice of the cow trying to 
quiet her calf to the weird tone in which 
she called to her lover. 

I was soon talking to the calves, calling 
them from their hiding places, quieting 
their fears, and even enticing them away 
from their mothers. 

My calf language first proved of actual 
value when I crept to a point of land 
extending into the lake to secure a picture. 
A large bull was standing by a small juniper 
tree at the very edge of the point. I had 
made my way carefully through mud and 
brush and had come to a large moose path 
which led through a thick growth of spruce. 
The remainder of my task seemed easy. I 
was just congratulating myself that the pic- 
ture of the bull would be mine, when a 
small calf jumped in front of me, bristled 
her mane and started away to make trouble. 
She walked through a small opening when 
[ 280 ] 



They both circled around me. Page 281 



He trotted away as though chased by all the 
Moose Devils of the Forest. Page 283 
























IN THE BIG WOODS 


I snapped her picture, thinking that would 
end my work for the afternoon. 

The wind was blowing toward me so the 
calf could not catch my scent. I began 
to talk to her. To my astonishment she 
stopped to listen. She even turned and 
walked back toward me. Her steps were 
cautious. She eyed me as though she 
thought I was the queerest moose she had 
ever seen. Another calf, a young bull, 
nearly twice her weight, came from hiding. 
They both circled around me, examining 
with every step this strange creature speak- 
ing their language. Finally they lost much 
of their fear and walked directly toward 
me. They came so close it was impossible 
to take a picture. I had to step back sev- 
eral feet before I could see all the young 
bull in my finder. 

After snapping their picture, I stood 
quietly and talked to them for a quarter 
of an hour. Indeed, I talked so long that 
the little cow grew weary and lay down 
[ 281 ] 


N ED B REWS T ER’ S YEAR 


within twenty feet of me to rest. The 
bull walked a little farther and stood 
waiting for his mother to return from the 
lake where she was feeding. Then I crept 
down the point and secured a picture 
of the bull under the juniper tree. 

When the bulls began to scrape the 
velvet from their horns and a restlessness 
came among both bulls and cows, I had 
higher ambitions than merely to talk to 
cows and calves. My guide made me a 
birch horn. For weeks I had been using 
it about camp. I had first been under the 
instruction of Mose and then had listened 
to the tones of the cows. I had prided 
myself that my language for the bulls was 
as perfect as had been my speech for the 
calves. 

With this pride I took my horn and 
started for the lake. Creeping quietly 
behind the lake wall, I saw a huge bull, 
a head with many points and a wide spread, 
which I had seen many times during the 
[ 282 ] 


IN THE BIG WOOD S 


summer. One day I had snapped his 
picture as he trotted down the shore. Now 
he stood with his antlers scraped of all 
velvet, white as snow against the green 
forest, a true monarch of the woods. His 
head turned slowly to scan the lake. He 
was waiting to catch some faint voice on 
the wind. I was just in time. I put 
my lips to the horn and breathed gently 
through it, as I thought a cow might do, 
creeping to the edge of the lake. Then, 
with anxious breath, I waited for the bull 
to come. Surely he could not resist a 
voice so near. But scarcely had the gentle 
note reached his ear when he started down 
the beach. The sudden appearance of a 
dozen men could not have given him a 
greater fright. He trotted away as though 
chased by all the moose devils of the forest. 
My speech was too stammering. I could 
not yet talk to kings. 

I was not quite ready to believe, however, 
that all my study had been a failure. The 
[ 283 ] 


NED BREWSTER’S YEAR 


next day I went to a ridge a few hundred 
feet from the lake. - Crawling to a small 
opening, I saw a bull. Just beyond him 
in the lake was a large cow. I concluded 
from later actions that she was his mate, 
for he stood patiently waiting for her to come 
ashore. His big head swung lazily about 
as he fought the flies. I wondered if he 
could be enticed away from his lady in 
the lake. It would be fun to see how firm 
his love was, and it would be quite human 
to awaken if possible the old cow’s jealousy. 
I lifted the horn and made the hills echo 
with what seemed the right tone. What 
would happen ? The old bull turned his 
head to look. He scanned the entire line 
of the forest. The cow raised herself in 
the mud, stopped feeding, and started for 
land. The bull was evidently halting be- 
tween two opinions. He turned and walked 
nervously up and down the shore. I called 
again. He trotted briskly in the direction 
of my call. Then, as though ashamed of 
[ 284 ] 



My Guide made me a Birch Horn. Page 282 




















* 







































































IN THE BIG WOODS 


himself, he went back to the edge of the 
lake. 

Encouraged by this success, I went to 
a large marsh where moose were always 
found. In the center of it was a small 
knoll covered with spruce and brush, an 
excellent hiding place. It was a spot where 
many large heads had been taken by hunters. 
If moose could be found anywhere, it was 
here. I began a low nasal note, increasing 
gradually in volume, and turning my head 
so the horn was given a circular motion 
which I imagined added more of the moose 
quality to the sound. Then I waited, but 
no answer came. Again I pointed the horn 
toward the hills and sent out the call. 
Verily, the hills rang with the answer. An 
old bull sent his deep, nasal “bach” over 
the meadow and against the cliffs, which 
echoed from hill to hill. I waited for what 
I thought was a reasonable time for him to 
reach me. He did not come. I sent out the 
call and again came the answer. But no 
[ 285 ] 


NED B REWS TER' S YEAR 


bull appeared. The process was repeated 
several times. No call ever failed to bring 
a reply. But I could not even discover 
with my strong glasses an antler at the edge 
of the brush. 

Suddenly a cow walked from the cover 
of the forest. Her mane bristled, and she 
was evidently in a fighting mood. She 
walked straight for the knoll on which I 
sat until she was within a hundred yards. 
Then she circled my hiding place. I gave 
the call and she stood with bristling mane. 
Who could be tempting her lover away ? 
Was it one of those hateful cows trying to 
interfere with other people’s domestic affairs, 
or was it a man ? Evidently there was an 
accent in my call which made her suspi- 
cious. She walked about the knoll until she 
reached the opposite side. A little breath of 
wind carried my scent to her nostrils, and 
the secret was out. She bounded into the 
woods. I could hear the bull breaking the 
brush as the couple ran for the deep timber. 

[ 286 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


The hunting season opened and the woods 
rang each day with the report of rifles. 
The bulls became increasingly timid. The 
lake, where it had been easy to count from 
one to a dozen large bulls each day, was 
now deserted. Occasionally, just before 
sunset two or three of the monarchs might 
be seen projecting their heads out of the 
brush at the edge of the forest, but they 
seldom ventured from cover. They were 
suspicious of calls, and my pride in the use 
of the moose tongue was humbled each day. 
I had almost despaired of ever overcoming 
the foreign accent which wakened their fears. 

It was not until the last of our long vaca- 
tion that I finally succeeded in calling a 
monarch which rewarded all my efforts. 
Early one morning, just as the sun was 
touching the tips of the forest, I discovered 
through my field glasses a huge head 
peering out of the brush on the opposite 
side of the lake. He was nervously looking 
for a cow. His massive antlers turned first 
[ 287 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


one way and then another. Still he dared 
not walk from the forest into the open lake. 
Could he be enticed by a call from my 
birch horn ? I raised it to my lips and sent 
a pleading note over the water. Through 
my glasses I could see he was all attention. 
The call had not failed to catch his ear. 
But would it arouse his suspicions ? It 
was evident that he was growing uneasy. 
He turned, lashed the brush with his horns, 
and took a step forward. But he dared 
not venture farther out. I lifted the horn 
again and rolled out a long invitation. 
There was a plunge into the water. When 
the spray cleared away I saw the bull, 
his head pointed toward me, his great body 
exerting every muscle to reach the place 
from whence came the sound. His massive 
antlers moved with the even motion and 
grace of the masts of a ship rolling on the 
swells of the sea. His grunts were almost 
continuous. He had not less than half a 
mile to swim before he could reach me, and 
[ 288 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 


I sat securely hidden in the brush, watching 
one of the finest sights on which my eyes had 
ever rested. Forgetting danger, defying 
every enemy, ready to fight with any rival, 
the great beast came on with the dignity 
of royalty and the fearlessness of a veteran. 

The minute his feet touched ground, 
he rushed through the water, throwing it 
back in waves. Then for a minute he 
stopped to locate the sound. But not hear- 
ing another call, he rushed into the woods 
as if maddened by disappointment. He 
would trot first in one direction and then 
another, trying to locate a cow. Once he 
was within a dozen feet of me. I could 
almost feel his hot breath. Then he trotted 
away and circled around me. This brought 
him into the wind, where he caught my 
scent. His great frame shook, mud and 
sticks flew from beneath his terrible plunge, 
the forest vibrated under his mad challenge. 

But I had finally reached my ambitions. 
I had talked with the greatest of the kings, 
. [ 289 ] 


NED BREWSTER'S YEAR 


and was content to turn home, feeling well 
repaid for all the hours I had spent learning 
the language of the wild folk. 

Our long vacation was ended. We had 
been just a year in the woods. Dad was 
better than he had ever been in his life. I 
had missed a year from school, but dad 
declared I had gained more than in any 
period of my studies. When we said good- 
by to the great wilderness of the Miramichi 
we felt that we were leaving the land of a 
friend and were sad when the great forests 
vanished from our sight. 

There had been only one disappointment 
in our entire vacation. We had not been 
able to induce Mose to guide us into the 
bear country, and we had no fine bearskin 
to take home with us. For some mysterious 
reason Mose refused to go into this region. 
But as our train pulled out of Doaktown, 
dad, seeing that I felt blue, said we would 
return the next summer and hunt bear 
[ 290 ] 


IN THE BIG WOODS 

along the Miramichi. This promise im- 
mediately changed my feelings. I could 
already imagine encounters with the big 
black bear, and, best of all, I knew I would 
have fine bear stories to tell the boys in the 
city. So I just made believe we were 
going to Boston for a little change, after 
which we would return to our real fife in 
the woods. 


[ 291 ] 

















. 













































